


bray of my heart

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Anxiety, Chronic Pain, Depression, F/M, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Same-Sex Daemons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. <i>I am, I am, I am.</i>" - Sylvia Plath</p><p>or: Cullen Rutherford, former military man turned explorer, and his daemon, are recruited by Josephine Montilyet for a dangerous expedition. Neither has any idea what they're really getting themselves into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a man for hire

**Author's Note:**

> I'm heading out the door, so I'll drop some notes on daemons and such the next chapter, but I'm finally tackling this project! Just in time for the holidays, too. Daemons and such are always a winter thing for me. Drop some questions if you're curious about the universe and don't know much, but I strongly recommend using the "His Dark Materials" wiki page for any universe-specific questions. And if you love and know daemon-verse already, awesome! Can't wait to see where this goes.

“How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.” – Sylvia Plath

* * *

It was hardly sunrise when Cullen found himself awoken again by strange dreams. His tabby dæmon, Albine, uncurled from his side and leaned up to paw gently at his cheek. “S’alright,” he murmured. “S’nothing.”

“Not nothing,” she said, but seemed content enough to curl back under his arm and close her eyes.

The shadows of daybreak were beginning to filter through the window and curtains in Cullen’s room. He watched them shift as day slowly came, creaking into life outside in the cold dead of winter. He found himself longing, again, for summer. Summer was when his usual contracts started up, and gold flowed freely. He traveled, and the air was warm and clear. He was happier, then.

Now the world had stagnated, as it always did in the winter. He had fewer clients, fewer trips. The gold was hardly an issue, Cullen saved meticulously and without hesitation. But without the travel, he was left to do smaller, more mundane tasks. He was often paid, in the winter months, to update his own maps, or to redesign them as gifts. Cullen had, from an early age, been quite adept at cartology, and that had not changed. But he liked his maps to reflect the fresh memories of travel. In the winter, he had none.

“You’re spiraling,” Albine said quietly. “You mustn’t.”

“Think it’s below freezing out there?”

“Most certainly.” She flicked her tail lazily and gazed out the opening in the curtain before sitting up. “Come on, then. Up and at ‘em.” Cullen huffed and relented, regretting it immediately, though, when his bare feet hit the cold, wood floors. “Tell you every year, you must wear socks.”

“You wear socks,” he snapped, and stood to make his way downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had spent ten years as a soldier. They called his division Templars, unofficially, but they were warriors in all aspects. Men and women who stood as the Divine’s first line of defense against Qunari, the warring class of Tevinter, and anyone else who thought to threaten Ferelden. He joined up at sixteen, and by seventeen he’d seen three months of war with Orlais. But without warning, peace came to Thedas, and Cullen was a warrior without a war.

He had been injured countless times, and the pain was often too much to bear. But he had not allowed himself the medicine in several months, and now, in winter when it was at its worst, he could not succumb. It was another reason he enjoyed travel – the pain seemed to ebb away.

After the peace accords with Orlais, Cullen was left without a job, and no marketable skill other than that he knew how to survive, and could do it superbly. It had been Albine, his beloved orange tabby cat dæmon, who had spoken the idea aloud, meaning that Cullen had been considering it secretly, and without thought.

“There’s a good deal uncharted land,” she said one day, her tail flicking over the northern parts of Thedas. “Might be something we could do.”

And so Cullen reached out to some of his former military contacts, found some rich people interested in getting richer, and began exploring. He did it on his own, mostly. There were years when he had a small team, others where he joined an already large expedition. Didn’t matter. As long as he was traveling, as long as he was making new maps, collecting samples, and sleeping under the stars – Cullen didn’t care.

But the pain, now. The pain of being without work, without medicine, and without warmth – it was all consuming. Today was the worst he’d had in weeks. He wondered if the dreams were to blame, the dreams where he was falling, without end, through clouds and star dust. The dreams where a gloved hand constantly reached for him, and he heard the roar of an airship all around.

“It’s not a nightmare,” Albine pointed out, as Cullen heated water for oats.

“It’s not particularly pleasant, either.” He stirred the pot as the water boiled. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll find something to keep ourselves busy today.”

“Bartrand Tethras wants you to redo the outline on that Deep Roads map.”

“That’ll be a challenge.”

“It’ll keep your hands busy.”

Cullen smiled, reaching out to brush his hands down Albine’s back, grateful as he always was for her, in these times when he needed her most.

“It will,” he said, and poured oats into the pot.

 

* * *

 

Bartrand Tethras was a dwarf and a merchant. He held considerable power within Kirkwall’s Merchant’s Guild and, had, several years before, sponsored a journey into the Deep Roads. The Deep Roads were paths beneath Thedas leading to metal-rich thaigs mined by dwarves. Their locations were of vital importance for the economy of most of Thedas. Having a well-drawn map to one of these thaigs could prove useful or profitable. Cullen liked for his maps to be both.

He had a large study where he drew and designed maps, with good lighting and plenty of ink. He drew on a number of mediums, but his favorite by far was canvas. He stretched it himself, prepped and readied it, and mounted it on the wall with his own hands before he began work. Bartrand’s map was older, one he’d done a few years ago, and it was in need of a good re-inking and a few updated locations. Likely it was a gift or perhaps a display piece for the Tethras mansion.

Cullen had been working since he’d finished breakfast, his smock covered in ink smears and filled with pens and brushes. He would likely work well past lunch and probably dinner, if Albine didn’t remind him that, like all other humans, he needed to eat. He did stop sometime after one for coffee, and was heading back into his study when the bell rang.

“Ignore it,” he said to Albine. She huffed. “It’s no one who can’t wait.”

But the bell rang again.

“They won’t leave,” she said.

“They will.” Cullen went back into his study, setting down his mug and lifting his brush –

The bell rang once more.

“If you won’t—”

“ _Alright_ ,” he snapped, tossing the brush onto the table. “You wait just a damn moment!” he shouted, marching toward the door and undoing the locks. “This had better be good.” He threw open the door, nearly looking over and past the woman standing at it. Cullen dropped his gaze.

“Believe me, Mr. Rutherford.” The woman stepped forward, forcing Cullen further into the house. She was wrapped in a thick, wool coat, her small hands covered in fur-rimmed suede gloves. Her dark curls spilled out under a thickly knitted cap and she _shivered_ in front of him.

“I promise,” she said. “It will be worth your precious time.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen sat at his kitchen table, watching as the woman moved from cabinet to cabinet, making coffee of her own accord. She wore a thick traveling dress and worn leather boots, suggesting that it was not her first minor expedition, nor her first winter. Perhaps her first  _Kirkwall_ winter, but a veteran of the cold all the same. She chattered about how she adored the city and the harbor, though she found the stench quite overwhelming. She had a stoat demon curled around her neck, its beady eyes watching Albine’s every move.

Her name was Josephine Montilyet, and she was now in temporary ownership of Cullen’s kitchen.

“I think that’s alright,” she said, tipping the thick metal pot over to pour generously into two cups. “Do you take sugar, Mr. Rutherford?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, please. Three cubes.”

“I take four myself. I do enjoy sweets. Too much, mamá always said, but mamá does not do the work we do, does she?” She smiled and brought the cups to the table.

“And what, exactly, is the work _we_ do?”

Josephine smiled. “We are explorers, Mr. Rutherford. Adventurers of the highest caliber.”

“You’re—”

“I am a manager of expeditions, to be precise. But I have not missed a single one.”

“A manager.”

“Indeed. I acquire the forces and resources necessary to carry out a proper quest, and I make sure that the entire thing goes smoothly. I am particularly adept at dealing with more diplomatic issues. Permits and permissions.” Cullen scowled. He detested permits and permissions. “One of my duties is to recruit men such as yourself for trips sponsored by my clients. In this case—”

Cullen held up a hand. “A moment, if you will.” Josephine’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Are you here to…recruit me?”

“I am.”

“In the middle of winter.”

“Yes.”

“For…who?”

She paused, and Cullen relaxed, watching her grasp for words. “Un _fortunately_ at the present time I cannot say.”

“Of course not.”

“You will, of course, meet our sponsor. That I can promise you.”

“But you won’t tell me his name?”

“No.”

“Or where the expedition will take place?”

“I can say that it will take place far north of Nevarra.”

“That’s…quite a ways from here. You suggest we travel through the Nevarran wilderness on foot? From Kirkwall?”

She laughed. “Hardly not, Mr. Rutherford.”

“It’s Cullen.”

She shrugged. “In due time, sir.” Josephine took a delicate sip of her coffee. “We will be traveling in the most eloquent and popular style of the day.”

“What, by boat? I hardly think—”

“Mr. Rutherford, _please._ ” The dæmon on her shoulder snickered and Albine’s ears went flat. “ _Zen._ ” She snapped her fingers, and the stoat recoiled. “I apologize. She can be a bit…abrasive.”

“She?”

“Yes. A rare circumstance, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cullen shrugged. He’d met plenty of soldiers back in the day who’d had dæmons the same gender as they. Some with no gender at all. Someone with just names, some who had settled too young, some too late. Dæmons were as varied and unique as the humans they clung to. Cullen had learned early on not to be surprised.

“So. Tell me how we’ll travel on this trip. _That I haven’t agreed to_ ,” he added, though he and Albine both knew – their nerves were twins, alight with the prospect of adventure once more. Adventure that wouldn’t have to wait until spring or summer.

Josephine smiled, and the stoat flowed into her arms.

“Airship, Mr. Rutherford. We’ll travel by airship.”


	2. all work and no play

 “If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.” ― Sylvia Plath,  _The Bell Jar_

 

* * *

 

_When you have acquired Rutherford, send word immediately. We must begin secondary preparations as soon as possible. – P_

Josephine set the note down with a sigh, and added it to the others on her desk. She immediately scribbled a note –  _Rutherford is reluctant to join without meeting you, but I don’t believe it will be an issue. We may proceed._  – and handed it off to her assistant. She was already exhausted, and this expedition hadn’t even departed. It was often this way. Josephine bent over backwards and twisted herself ‘round and ‘round to please her clients, and could only feel relief when they took that first step into uncharted lands.

At this rate they’d be lucky to get their airship off the ground.

“Don’t be so negative.” Zuzen lifted her head and rested it on the edge of the desk, sitting up in the usual armchair she occupied in Josephine’s study. “Everything will work out. Just like it always does.”

“You’re being quite generous,” she countered, but the stoat sighed and curled back up in her spot. “Rutherford has not agreed.”

“He will.”

“He may not.”

“He’s already decided. Meeting his prospective employer is just a matter of professional principle.”

Josephine scowled and went back to her notes, marking a few pages before standing. “I’m exhausted,” she announced.

“You won’t sleep.”

“No. I need to meet with the engineers.”

Zuzen shrugged. “It could wait until morning.”

“It could.” Josephine put on her coat and grabbed her gloves. Zuzen flowed from the chair and twisted up her leg and wrapped around the back of her neck. “Let’s call the car.”

 

* * *

 

The Chargers were not professional engineers by any means. It was entirely possible that they had no formal training whatsoever and, were, in fact, former mercenaries. Josephine actually had probable cause to believe they were currently  _active_  mercenaries, who served as “engineers” when their leader, The Iron Bull, requested it. But whatever their training, background, or direction of their moral compass, one fact could not be denied – they delivered on their promises, and they were worth every bit of gold.

“Josie!” Bull roared and crossed the room toward her. His hare dæmon hopped beside him and Zuzen crawled down to greet her. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Not when there is work to be done,” she said, but felt tired down to her bones. “How are the repairs coming along?”

“Done this morning. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.” Bull whistled and a few of the Chargers repelled off the top of the ship and onto the warehouse floor. “Boys, scatter.” They nodded and went their own ways. Bull’s second-in-command, Krem, was the only one to remain. He greeted Josephine with a shy smile, his sparrow dæmon twittering happily on his shoulder.

“Lady Montilyet.”

“Good evening, Krem.”

“You’ll be right proud of the work. Save you a drink, boss?”

“Sure, sure.” Bull wiped his hands on his smock and led Josephine up the ramp into the ship. She looked around, impressed. Before, it had been dingy, dirty from the previous trip and years of storage. The instruments in the navigation room held her reflection perfectly. She tested a few things, pleased with their response. Bull grinned. “Good work, yeah?”

“Worth every coin, Bull.”

He chuckled. “Probably not worth as much as you’re paying that Templar.”

“You know Mr. Rutherford?”

“Cullen? We met a few years back. Chargers were working on a steamboat. He came by every few days to check progress before the trip. He’s talented, you’ve gone to the right man for help. Has some rules, though.”

“Yes,” Josephine muttered. “I’m aware.” Cullen’s  _rules_  were plentiful, his first being that he wanted to meet the expedition’s sponsor right away. The other being he receive half his payment ahead of time, among a few other things. They were not impossible rules, there were simply…quite a few of them.

“He’s good,” a small voice said, and Josephine realized it was Bull’s dæmon. She was a sweet looking hare, but her eyes were hard, as steely as her partners. Her voice was soft, but commanded attention. Zuzen stiffened in Josephine’s arms at the sound of it.

“Ruth’s got good taste,” Bull explained, and bent down to lift her into his arms. “Now. I believe  _someone_  needs to be off to bed.”

Josephine stifled a yawn. “Oh, you won’t be mothering me for the  _entire_  trip, will you?”

Bull laughed again. “You need to take care of yourself, Josie. And I mean that.” He put a hand on her shoulder, looked right into her eyes. She felt, in that moment, as if he knew all her secrets, all her quietest, deepest fears.

Perhaps he did.

And she wasn’t sure what it was that sent a chill down her back, but stepping into the cold of the outside was a warming relief to the burden of The Iron Bull’s gaze.

 

* * *

 

She slept for a handful of hours, and fitfully at that. In the morning she bathed and dressed before heading into her office again. Her assistant met her at the door, wringing her hands and looking flustered. “I’m sorry, Lady Montilyet, he insisted on waiting for you, he couldn’t be stopped—”

Josephine put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder and stepped through the double doors. Cullen sat at the chair in front of her desk, toying with a puzzled her sister had given her for her birthday the year before. When she stepped inside, Cullen jolted, fumbling the puzzle and struggling to pick it back up.

“Ah,” he said. “Um. Sorry.” He put it back on the desk and promptly knocked over the jar holding her pencils. “Damn—”

“Sit,” she said, “before you break something.”

Cullen sighed. “Right.”

“Mr. Rutherford—”

“Maker, please, Lady Montilyet. Can’t you…it’s Cullen. I don’t…Cullen is fine.”

“Alright. Cullen.” She straightened the jar, setting the pencils inside. “You frightened my assistant.”

“Did I? Maker, I certainly didn’t mean to. I’ll apologize.”

“That would be nice.” She folded her hands over one another on the desk. “What can I do for you?”

Cullen stared at her for a moment before he began to make a tight wheezing noise.

Josephine realized very quickly it was his laugh.

“I’m sorry—” He shook his head and smiled. “Well, I mean. You came to me first. I never…I never  _agreed_  to go on this expedition. You know I want to meet the sponsor, you know I must—”

“I am aware of your contingencies.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well. We can discuss those…later, I suppose. I’m here to tell you that I…I'll join you.” His tabby dæmon leapt from her spot on the floor by his chair and into his lap. “We’ll sort out all the other moving parts at a later time. But for now…you have my word.” He looked right at her, and Josephine felt…disarmed, for a moment. It didn’t not happen often, and it did not last long.

Cullen signed the contract, but for some reason, Josephine didn’t feel like she’d made much progress.

 

* * *

 

_The contracts have been signed. Please prepare to depart in two week’s time. – P_

 

* * *

 

“It’s good to see you again,” Bull said, putting a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “Josie said you wanted a tour!”

“I would.” Cullen smiled, though it made his face look rather pained. His dæmon – Josephine had learned her name was Albine, and she was not interested in speaking to herself or Zuzen – sat on his shoulder, balanced precariously, only coming down to inspect Bull’s dæmon, Ruth, and paw at one of the instruments. “It’s wonderful work, Bull.”

“That’s why we get paid the big ones, right?” He clapped Cullen on the shoulder again and laughed, nearly sending him to his knees. “You two acquaint yourselves with her. I need to have a little chat with one half of your employer.”

Josephine balked. “ _What?_ ”

Cullen turned quickly. “Are they here?”

Bull looked between the two of them. “Yeah. Varric’s here.”

Cullen nearly choked. “Varric  _Tethras?_ ”

“Don’t know another, do you –  _hey!_ ” Cullen rushed past him, Albine racing ahead. Josephine groaned and lifted the skirts of her dress, running after him.

“Cullen!”

He turned around, a finger in her face. “No. We are done with the secrets, Lady Montilyet. If I’m going to be doing all  _this_  –” He gestured wildly toward the ship. “Then I will know precisely who I am doing it for—”

“What’s all the shouting about?” Josephine looked past Cullen’s shoulder and saw Varric walking out of Bull’s office, Krem on his heels. He had obviously just arrived – snow dusted his hair and shoulders and he was in the process of pulling off his gloves with some care. His dæmon, a kit fox he called Brigid, walked primly beside him. He smiled. “Everything alright?”

“Master Tethras,” Josephine said. “I wasn’t aware you would be here today.”

Varric grinned. “Surprise! Seeker said Bull was finished with the repairs. Had to come see the beauty myself. She’ll be furious about it, of course, but—” He waved a hand dismissively. Josephine didn’t think the “Seeker” would appreciate Varric coming down to the warehouse without her, and probably without telling her, but he could deal with her angry employer on his own time. Varric seemed to have a talent for infuriating the other half of his partnership, and for recovering rather quickly from her flaring temper. In spite of the age lines and graying auburn hair, Varric had the infinite expression of a young man who’d simply wandered into trouble by accident.

Cullen seemed to be at a loss for words. “I…you…I had no idea that  _you_ —”

“Bartrand isn’t the only man of House Tethras with spare gold lying around. Though he is far more adept at spending it than I am.” Varric wandered over to the side of the ship and nodded. “It looks good, Bull. Seeker’ll be happy.”

“I should hope you’ve sent someone ahead to earn back her favor.”

“Oh, I’ve got my own ways.”

“I’ll let you keep those to yourself,” Bull said with a grin. “Come on, all of you. Wanna show you the engine. She’s a beauty.” He and Varric walked ahead, leaving Cullen and Josephine behind them both, staring at their retreating backs.

Cullen seemed flustered, still. “Varric  _Tethras._ ”

“I…yes.”

“You couldn’t tell me  _that?_ ”

“Lady Pentaghast—” Josephine stopped, putting a hand over her mouth.  _Damn._

“Why the secrecy?” Cullen finally asked, after a long moment of watching her attempt to cover her blunder. Josephine sighed.

“It was her own idea. She wanted you to agree without influence. She was aware you knew of Varric, and would know of her own history as well. She didn’t want you to be…swayed.”

“Or put off.” Cullen folded his arms over his chest.

“…Are you?” Josephine asked, feeling quite small.

Cullen sighed. “No. I’m not. If anything it’s…all the more intriguing, I suppose.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Josephine hesitated, looking at Zuzen on her shoulder. She was aware of the cool stare of Cullen’s dæmon, as if she was aware that Josephine was considering withholding just one more detail.

“Well, yes,” she said. “Varric and Lady—” She shook her head. “Varric and  _Cassandra_  are…well. They are married,” she said. “And have been for quite some time. Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I know. An odd pair.”

“Indeed.”

“But efficient.” She sighed. “I’ll arrange a meeting with the both of them tomorrow. I…apologize if I made you feel like you were being kept in the dark. That was not my intention.”

Cullen shook his head. “It’s alright. But we’re about to embark on something rather dangerous, if my gut is telling me the right thing. We need to trust one another, even when instinct tells us otherwise. Can you promise me that?”

Josephine bit her lip. Cullen had extended a hand, and Albine took a step closer.

 _Well_ , she thought.  _In for a sovereign_ …

“I promise,” she said, and shook his hand.

 


	3. revelations in fine fur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more Dust talk will be coming in the next chapters. and they'll eventually get off the ground.
> 
> i think.

“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” - Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

The Tethras-Pentaghast home was strangely quiet for the middle of the day, considering what Cullen knew of them both. Varric Tethras was the younger of House Tethras – as such, he was not expected to have a career or livelihood beyond spending family money or buying time with courtesans. He was expected to marry a nice girl from the Merchant’s Guild, have some attractive children, and carry on the family name.

It did not appear as though any of that had happened.

Cassandra Pentaghast was the furthest thing from a nice Merchant’s Guild girl Cullen could think of. She’d been a Right Hand to the Divine, a Seeker of Truth, and a warrior in all things. She had refused the Nevarran throne, fought an army of undead (a rumor, but one Cullen absolutely believed) – she had also, the story was, been a _pirate_ for some time. According to more rumor, those were the years when she met Varric Tethras – upon her proper re-entry into polite society, the two were engaged.

This was some thirty years ago, when they were young, and before Cullen was even born.

“There’s usually far more…commotion,” Josephine said, walking with him through the house. It was clearly less of a home and more of a library. There were shelves covering nearly every wall, stuffed and stacked with books. Maps littered many of the tables, and half-drunk cups of tea seemed to be found wherever he looked.

“Do they keep a lot of company while they’re here?”

Josephine smiled. “No. They tend to…bicker with one another.”

“A happy union, then.”

“A balanced one. They care deeply for one another. But I won’t pretend to know more than you,” she said quickly. Her stoat dæmon watched Cullen from beneath her curls, while Albine walked ahead of them all. “I only met them this winter. Master Tethras was the one to procure my services personally.” She stopped in front of a pair of large wooden doors and smiled. “They are expecting you, of course.”

Cullen nodded, stepping in after Josephine as she opened the doors. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting – certainly not the silence that met him. They were standing together by the fire, talking very quietly, one of her hands clasped in both of his. When the doors opened, they turned, and Cullen felt embarrassed – it was intimate, and they had intruded.

But whatever sort of calm or unease had been there before was quickly swept away by Varric’s laughter as he approached Cullen and embraced him. “ _Curly!_ ”

“Um—”

“Varric. We discussed this habit.”

“You know, Seeker, when I met this kid, he was _this_ tall, and that hair was a _mess._ Do you remember that, Curly?”

“Not well.” Cullen smiled, though. He had met Varric and his brother, Bartrand, several years ago. The two had been sponsoring an expedition to the Deep Roads, and Cullen had been looking for money. It had been foolish to go to them, and he certainly would have perished. The man who _did_ go on the trip, Hawke, became one of Varric’s lifelong friends, if tales of the trip were to be believed.

Cullen had always meant to thank Varric, but the man was never quite within reach.

And now that he was, the words died on his tongue.

“Would you like tea, Cullen?” Cassandra gestured for him to sit, then eased herself into a chair. She began making him a cup regardless, and Cullen only nodded as he took it. “ _Sit_ , Varric. You are being rude.”

“This is exciting, Seeker! We’re finally getting all these loose ends tied up.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “Mr. Rutherford wished to discuss the details of the trip a bit more with you, before he finally consented to go.”

“I have consented,” Cullen said quickly. “It’s just…more common practice for me to know the intent of my journey before I go. Makes things a bit less murky.”

“Oh, come now.” Varric settled heavily into his chair, a glass of scotch now present in his hand. “You don’t like diving in completely blind on occasion? Makes things exciting.” He chuckled and took a long drink. “No, no, you’re right to want to understand. What did we decide on, Seeker?”

“We did not _decide_ on anything. He wanted to know the truth. We will tell him.” She looked at Cullen and smiled. “I am from Nevarra, as you know. My family has claim to vast acres of land, particularly far north. It has been said for generations that there is great wealth there. Leftovers from the days of the Imperium. Gold, jewels, but also maps and books. _Those_ things we are quite interested in.”

Varric shrugged. “We could also use some spare gold.”

“But these lands are uncharted. No one has mapped them. No one even knows where any of this supposed treasure _is_ , if it exists at all. Everything is based on story and oral tradition. I do have some weak attempts at maps. A great-great uncle of mine attempted to map the areas many years ago, but he nearly died. His dæmon had to carry him to civilization, according to my grandmother.”

“We’re getting old, Curly.” Varric leaned forward. “And the Seeker wants to know if there’s anything of value on that old family land before they swipe it from us next year.”

“Who would take it?”

Cassandra waves a hand. “A silly cousin of mine, attempting to use the old law to disown me for marrying a dwarf. If she succeeds in winning audience with the king, she will likely gain the land for herself. But, for now, it is mine. It was left to myself and my brother by our father when he died. She has no rights to it, unless I am officially banished.”

“Has your brother attempted anything?”

Cassandra smiled. “My brother has been gone for many years.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be. It is an old wound, healed with time We—” She laughed, then, and covered her mouth with her hand. “ _Itzal!_ ” She blushed, reaching down the front of her blouse and retrieving a chameleon, no larger than the palm of her hand. “Forgive me,” she said. “My dæmon falls asleep in the strangest places.”

The little chameleon looked at Cullen, and licked its eyeball.

“Well.” Varric clapped his hands together. His own kit fox dæmon stood as he did. She was well groomed, and rather proper looking. She looked at Cullen, and he felt, for a moment, as if he were in the presence of royalty.

Perhaps he was.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Cassandra said. She placed her dæmon on her shoulder and stood with her husband. “It’s…rather simple, we know. But it will take time and patience.”

Cullen nodded, feeling as though the meeting had come to an end. “I understand. And I’m glad for a simple trip, truly. The last few were rather… complicated.”

Varric chuckled. “I heard. All those _wolves._ Had to have been quite the journey.”

“The Hinterlands does seem to be full of them.”

“And bears,” Cassandra said, almost fondly.

“You would remember that, Seeker.”

The two dissolved into a quiet conversation about whether it was their third or fourth year of marriage that Cassandra rescued Varric from a Great Beat attack – Cullen could have listened all day.

“We’ll take our leave,” Josephine said loudly, standing.

“Oh!” Cassandra’s cheeks flushed. “Forgive us, please.” She reached for Cullen’s hand and smiled. “We are so happy you’ve agreed to help us. It…it means everything.”

“Yeah.” Varric took his glass from the table by his chair and drained it. “It’ll be exciting to finally travel with you, Curly.”

Cullen paused. “I…I’m sorry. Did you say _with_ me?”

Varric nodded. “Of course. We’ll be going, too.”

“ _What?!_ ” Josephine’s voice cracked like a whip between them. Between her legs, her dæmon hissed. Varric’s dæmon hissed back.

“ _Brigid!_ ”

“Y-you can’t be serious.”

“We are.”

“But—” She looked between the two, then at Cullen. He had no idea how to help her, no idea what to say. “But you _can’t!_ ”

“And why not?”

“You never _told me_ you would be coming! I thought that’s why you hired me! To…to _manage_ things!”

“Certainly,” Cassandra said. “We can hardly be expected to do that by ourselves. We are old, Josephine. We don’t have the patience for these things as you do.”

“Besides, it’s going to be like our last _hurrah_ before we retire. It’ll be better if we find that gold.”

“The _gold_ is a non-issue,” Cassandra said quickly. “We are _adventurers_ , Josephine. And we have spent the last seven years trying to pretend that we were done, when we very much had one last, well—” Cassandra looked at her husband and smiled, taking his hand. “One last _hurrah_ in us.”

“Oh, _Maker_ take us all,” Josephine said quietly. “How could you not _tell_ me this?”

Varric frowned. “Well _I_ thought you knew. I thought you were going to tell her,” he said, turning to Cassandra.

She flushed with anger. “I thought _you_ were going to tell her!”

“No, that was definitely _not_ my job.”

“Yes, _your_ job was to go and inspect the airship without me and have a dozen drinks with The Iron Bull before I noticed you were gone, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, come on, Seeker, you wouldn’t have enjoyed that anyway.”

“You are so quick to assume what I will and will not enjoy, Varric. You hardly—”

“I’ve been right for almost thirty years, Seeker, I think I know you by now—”

Josephine touched Cullen’s arm. “We should go.”

“Is this the bickering you were referring to earlier?”

She sighed. “No. This will last much longer.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen pulled his coat around him tighter as he waited for the car to come around. Josephine was making a few last minute notes, shaking her head.

“They had planned for it all along, I don’t know why I didn’t see it. All the rooms, and the rations. I _did_ think they had asked for several more blankets than one might with the crew numbers I had counted, but Lady Pentaghast grows cold very easily. Or so she told me.” She sighed, and whispered something to her dæmon. “We’ll have the car drop you off,” she said. “And we must head into the city and make sure everything is set for our departure.”

Albine purred happily at the thought of returning home, stuffed between Cullen’s coat and his chest. He swallowed thickly.

“Actually—”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Albine hissed.

“Might we go with you? I’d like to help, since we’ll both be working this trip together.” Cullen gave her a smile. “It strikes me now that I don’t know you very well, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine flushed, folding her list and slipping it into her coat pocket. Cullen wondered how she could stand the cold today, without gloves. She glanced up as the car rolled toward them, and nodded.

“Very well,” she said. “If you insist on observing my errands.”

“I’m sure they’re much more important than that.”

Albine dug a claw into his sternum as he opened the door, allowing Josephine into the backseat first.

“I want to go home,” she whispered.

“It’s not even lunch. What are we going to do?”

“Pack.”

Josephine stuck her head out. “Are you coming?”

Cullen looked down at Albine and gave her a soothing smile. She purred, just once, and closed her eyes.

“Of course,” he said. “Just making concessions.”

 

* * *

 

Josephine did have a great deal to do, and for the first hour, Cullen followed her around, and carried an armful of packages. Now that she knew Varric and Cassandra would be joining them, she knew to check for their coats at the tailors, and made plans to pick them up in the morning. She bargained with the seamstress for a better price on Varric’s boots that needed stitching up, and managed to acquire a few dozen spare gloves, just in case.

“One never knows,” she said, and made a little note.

“You seem quite prepared.”

She smiled at him. “I am always prepared. It’s how I acquired my reputation.”

“How does one _become_ an expedition manager?” Cullen asked. Albine rolled her eyes.

Josephine laughed. “It’s a good question. It happened by accident, really. I was a girl when I planned my first trip. What were we, Zen, thirteen?”

“Fourteen,” the dæmon said quietly.

“Yes,” she said. “My father was a merchant. He planned trips every year, but he always needed someone to read maps and make sure he didn’t miss any ports or important festivals. He sold fabric, dyes, that sort of thing. My uncle helped him, but he was very sick that year, and so I asked if I could go. I couldn’t stand another minute cooped up with my siblings.”

“But you were only a child!”

“You would have gotten on well with mamá,” she said. “She begged me not to go, but father had made up his mind, and I was quite good at the planning parts. And I had grown up around ships, the sailing was no trouble for me. That was the year Zuzen settled, actually. It took time,” she said quickly.

“It does, for some.”

Josephine shrugged, moving down the stall of fruit vendors and inspecting a few pieces. “I had spent all my life at home with my family. We were imaginative. We thought she could settle into one of the birds my sister painted, or a tiger. The stoat was natural for us. Warm, easy to travel with, and small enough to hold.”

“A tiger would have been difficult to manage.”

“Oh, do you know that I met a man with a lion for a dæmon? It was rather appropriate,” she added, laughing behind her hand. She paused, looking up at Cullen from behind her lashes. “Might I ask…when did she settle?”

Cullen glanced down, and Albine nodded. “I was nine.”

“Maker.”

“My father died, and my mother was in no shape to take care of us. I suddenly had a great deal to do. One day I woke and that was that. My aunt had come to stay with us. She said it would be easier to find work with a settled dæmon. People would take me more seriously.”

“It must have been difficult.”

“Only at the start. You get used to it, you know.” Cullen smiled. “I’m still picturing you, just a girl on your father’s ship.”

Josephine laughed. “Oh, mother was _miserable_ about it. She wanted me to stay home that summer. I was supposed to be entertaining suitors, going to parties and dances.”

“At _fourteen?_ ”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have married _then._ A few years later, certainly. She had someone picked out for me, a nice boy about my age. He married a nice girl some time later, I was told. The next year I began travelling with my father regularly. When I was sixteen, I was hired outside the family. I never looked back.”

Cullen shifted the packages in his arm, following her down the walk and into the stationary store. He milled about while she arranged for another delivery as Albine swatted at a few quills low to the ground. They ventured out into the cold again, and Josephine checked the time.

“There’s still so much to do,” she muttered. “But it will have to wait. I do hate to cut our time short, but I have an emergency meeting with a last-minute investor.” She sighed. “I would bring you along, but it was arranged very precisely.”

“I understand,” Cullen said.

“I’ll stay here, my meeting is downtown. The car will take you home. You can leave those right there in the back, I’ll make sure they make their way to our esteemed employers.”

Cullen laughed. “Are you really all that worried about their joining us?”

Josephine shook her head as they approached the car, opening the door for him. “No, I’m not. I’m only…this will be my largest venture. It has had the most moving parts,” she said. Cullen set the packages in the backseat.

As he did, Josephine reached into her pockets and pulled out a pair of gloves.

They were not like the ones she had worn when she met him. These were different – finer, more elegant. The ends were lined with soft fur, the fabric expensive. They were so familiar, and it became so clear to Cullen precisely where he’d seen them before that he almost fell against the car –

_The dreams._

In them, he fell.

In them, a gloved hand reached out and took his own.

Gloves like those.

“Where…did you get those?” he asked, trying to sound calm.

“The gloves?” Cullen nodded. “Varric had them made for me when I came here. The coat too.” She slid her hands over the fabric. “It is a nice ensemble, is it not? Good for traveling.”

“Yes.” Cullen nodded. “Yes, it’s…it’s very lovely.”

Josephine frowned. Her dæmon stared at him. “Are you alright?”

“I am,” he said. “I’ve been up for a long time today. I think it’s good that I should retire.”

“Well, I do apologize for leaving you like this. But I’d like you to come by the airship one last time tomorrow, before we depart. Bull thinks the end of the week will bring the best weather to take off, but we must clear it with the city, first.”

“Of course.”

Josephine sighed. “Well…thank you. It was good to get to know you a bit better. I’m sure we’ll have another chance. We will be stuck together for quite some time, after all.” With a smile, she stepped back from the curb, and Cullen slid into the backseat of the car. “I will see you tomorrow, then. At nine.”

“At nine,” Cullen repeated.

“Be well,” she said, and turned to go.

 

* * *

 

In bed that night, Cullen turned and slid his hand under Albine’s belly, sifting through her thoughts.

“You don’t know what it means,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced herself.

“Those were custom made. No one else has those gloves.”

“It’s only a dream, Cullen. Just a _dream._ ”

“What if it’s reality?”

Albine shifted, leaving his hand cold again. Cullen pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“Then we already know that we do not plummet to our untimely deaths,” she said. “We are clearly rescued by the little Antivan sailor girl.”

“Do you think she has them, too?”

“You should ask her. ‘Lady Montilyet, do you dream that I am falling to my death and you manage to snatch me out of the air in the nick of time?’ Then you could kiss her.”

“I don’t want to kiss her.”

“I know that. But it would be rather romantic, wouldn’t it?”

Cullen sighed. “You’re no help.”

“You didn’t ask for help,” the tabby said, curling closer to him. “You only asked for a narrative.”

“And you never fail to provide.”

She purred. “Go to bed, Cullen. We’re about to get several weeks of no rest. We should savor it now.”

Cullen sighed, nodding and closing his eyes. If weather permitted, they would be departed in a few days’ time. He could think on the gloves and the dream later, if he ever even had a chance.

For now, he slept – Albine was right. Once they were in the air, there would be no time for dreaming.


	4. allies and allowances

“I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.” – Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

The ship was ready to fly, but the port had denied their request for departure – again.

“My _employer_ will not be pleased—”

The man who stamped her forms with a large red _X_ laughed. “You tell Varric Tethras to march his dwarven ass down here and make it happen. Otherwise, not a single airship is leaving this port until next month. Viscount’s orders.”

“The _Viscount!_ Why would the Viscount deny airship departures? We were allowed to dock here for repairs with the intent that we would leave.”

“Look, missy.” Josephine _fumed._ “I don’t make the damn rules. Now, you and your neck scarf get out of here before I call the guard.” Zuzen hissed from Josephine shoulder, but she did turn and leave, stomping all the way from the office and to the warehouse, where Cullen was waiting for her with Bull. They were laughing, trading stories, but when they saw her their smiles faded.

“Josie!” Bull came forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter? You look ready to spit.”

“We have been denied _again_ ,” she said. “That insufferable office claims the _Viscount_ is preventing departures—”

Cullen frowned. “That’s…that’s still in effect?” Josephine and Bull turned to look at him, and he cleared his throat. “It was months ago, I thought. There were attacks downtown, and an airship nearly crashed into the Viscount’s Keep, but that was pirates. Raiders, or something. It had nothing to do with the ship itself.”

“You failed to mention this.”

Cullen sighed. “I _thought_ that the ban had been lifted. I haven’t traveled by airship in a few years, honestly.”

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was not expecting this.”

Bull shrugged. “What did he say you could do about it?”

“He told me to have Master Tethras come down and file the paperwork himself. Which, of course, means he would like Varric to come down here and throw around some coin. But I don’t see how that would change the Viscount’s mind.”

“Aren’t Tethras and the Viscount old pals?”

“I…” Josephine frowned. “I am not sure.”

“Send him a message,” Bull said. “See what can be done. Kirkwall’s not like a lot of other ports, Josie.” He clapped her on the shoulder, and Zuzen nearly fell, scrabbling up the sleeve of her coat for purchase. “I know you’re no stranger to bribery, but they speak it like a second language here.”

Josephine sighed. She did detest the methods of this city, but her expedition needed to be off the ground in a few _days,_ not a few weeks. She nodded and borrowed the Charger’s office for a moment to have a letter sent to the Tethras household, then returned.

“Shall we have our final walkthrough?” Bull said, offering her an arm. His hare dæmon hopped ahead of them, sitting up on her back legs. Zuzen and Albine followed her, walking up the ramp ahead of them.

Josephine smiled. “Yes,” she said. “That would be lovely.”

 

* * *

 

_I’ll see what I can do. You hang tight, and make sure Curly meets the others. Don’t need more surprises than we’ve already got._ _– V_

 

* * *

 

Josephine didn’t want to venture too far from the port or downtown, in case Varric came through for her faster than Cullen or Bull suspected he might. And she certainly needed to tie up a few more loose ends before they departed, whenever that may have been. Cullen agreed to accompany her for lunch at a small café not far from the warehouse. After they’d sat down and ordered drinks, she peeled off her coat and said, “I brought you here to meet with someone.”

Cullen paused. “Alright.”

“It is the investor I met with yesterday, after you accompanied me on my errands?” Cullen nodded. “He’s a professor, and a friend of Varric and Cassandra. He’ll be joining us on the ship.”

“Maker, how many rooms does this thing _have_?”

“More than we intend on using. Most of it will be storage, or suites in case there are guests. The number of friends our intrepid employers have managed to acquire over the years is rather staggering,” Josephine admitted. “But there is certainly room for others.” She paused, thanking the server who brought her hot chocolate and finally took off her gloves. “He also…wanted to meet you. It was important, he said.”

“Oh? And why was that?”

Josephine sighed. “He is from Tevinter, and he is a mage.”

Cullen’s face went a very odd color, red around his nose and ears. “I see.”

“The investment was last minute, and Master Tethras insists that he join us. I cannot speak for him beyond that.” Josephine took too large a sip from her drink too soon, and coughed. Her tongue burned. “ _Maker_ ,” she muttered, and wiped her mouth. When she looked at Cullen, he was smiling. “You revel in my discomfort, then?”

“It’s only amusing that you _are_ uncomfortable. I’m fairly well-traveled, Josephine. I’ve met my share of mages from Tevinter.”

“Yes, well. You have never met a man quite like Dr. Pavus.”

And as if on cue, the door to the café swung open, and Dorian Pavus entered. Josephine had liked him the day before right away. He was charming and clever, as well as impeccably well dressed and knowledgeable of social trends and tendencies. He approved of Josephine’s way of doing things, and they had discussed proper coat length in Orlais for some time before finally returning to the subject at hand. He spotted her immediately and strode toward their table, arms stretched wide.

“My _dear_ Josie. You look even more beautiful today than you did before.”

“You are too kind, Dr. Pavus.”

“ _Please_. Dorian, call me Dorian.” He grinned and looked toward Cullen. “And _this_ must be the esteemed Mr. Rutherford you spoke of. He is far more handsome than you said.”

It was Josephine’s turn, now, to change colors almost completely, and she sat down quickly and buried her hands in her lap as Cullen and Dorian exchanged pleasantries.

She hadn’t even _said_ he was handsome.

“Josephine said you were keen to meet me,” Cullen said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, how _civilized._ I do hate coming to the south and finding myself on the receiving end of a beating, both verbal and otherwise. Yes, I’ll have a sherry, if it’s available.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair and finally took a seat. From beneath the color of his shirt, his snake dæmon stuck out her head, an exotic green compared to the steel greys and stony colors of Kirkwall. “My dæmon,” he said. “Aurea.” She stuck out her little tongue, and gave Josephine a serpentine smile. “Ah, she liked you.”

“So cultured,” Aurea said, gave Cullen a strange look, and hid herself away again.

“She detests the cold.”

“Don’t we all?” Cullen said. Dorian’s drink arrived and they each lifted their glasses and fell silent. After a moment, Cullen asked, “Is there a specific reason you wished to meet me before we departed, Dr. Pavus?”

“Well I do tend to enjoy meeting the people who plan to boss me about while I’m so far away from home. And your reputation did not quite precede you. You’re known in Minrathous, but only just. It’s nothing about your skill, to be quite honest. If you aren’t one of them, then the locals tend to gloss over you. Southern expeditions rarely get coverage back home.”

Cullen shrugged. “I can’t say I’m surprised, though I’ve traveled through your homeland several times.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. Tevinter is filled with filthy tombs and decrepit libraries. All of them haunted. You must have a _field day_ when you go.”

Cullen smiled and leaned forward. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Dr. Pavus, but I’d very much like it if you’d cut the bullshit and tell me why you’re here.”

Josephine froze, wondering if perhaps this would have been a meeting better suited for the airship, with the Chargers around and Varric to make nice. Dorian’s smile faltered, but only for a _microsecond_ before he said coolly, “You were a Templar once, _Commander._ I’m not going to join this expedition if the man in charge is going to make an attempt on my life every time my back is turned.”

Josephine looked at Cullen. She had known this information, of course, but she had been told not to discuss it with him, in particular by Cassandra.

_A man’s past does not always define him, Josephine._

Cullen’s dæmon appeared in his lap, butting his hands with her head. He dug his fingers into her fur, closing his eyes. “I was a soldier,” Cullen said quietly. “ _Templar_ was…a poorly chosen nickname.”

“Yes, for your duties, of which I am aware.” Dorian’s own dæmon had crawled down his arm and wrapped herself delicately around him, lifting her head every so often to lap at his drink. She never took her eyes off Cullen.

Cullen shook his head. “I never _hurt_ anyone. I never…I never engaged that way.”

“The stories tell otherwise—”

“ _The stories are wrong!_ ” Cullen said, and slammed his hand on the table. Albine _hissed,_ and the noise of the café dimmed, for only a moment, before it ignited again. Josephine could only watch. “I will not sit here and be judged by _you_ , by some _mage_ from Tevinter. The practices of your homeland _pale_ in comparison with what I was _asked_ to do. I will not—”

“We don’t all believe in that,” Dorian said quietly. “Perhaps the common behaviors of my countrymen appall you, but they do the same to me. Not all of us participate in what you find so abhorrent.” He took a sip from his drink. “Forgive me, Mr. Rutherford. It was wrong to assume you retained the values of your superiors.”

The color in Cullen’s face was slowly returning. Josephine reached out and covered his hand with her own, without thought.

“No,” he said. “You should forgive me, Dr. Pavus. I…should not have become so angry.”

“You have every right to. I came here and accused you of being a bigot.” Dorian smiled and drained his glass. “But I think we should be off to a better start now, yes?”

Cullen nodded, visibly relaxing. Josephine pulled back. “So,” he said. “How much money have you put into this trip, if I may ask, Dr. Pavus?”

Dorian sighed. “First, you _must_ stop calling me that. Dorian will suit you fine.”

“Then it is Cullen to you.”

“Oh, _excellent._ ” Dorian ordered another sherry for himself, and a round for the table. “Now, second, I’ve invested no money in this expedition. I am what Varric calls an ‘intellectual investor.’” Cullen frowned.

Aurea lifted her green head, jaw opening and snapping shut. “Dorian, I can _see_ the gears working in his head.”

“Yes, it’s precious isn’t it? I have money, of course, but I don’t think Varric and Cassandra truly _want_ for any of that. I’m a professor, Cullen. I teach about magic and its history, and I’m quite good at it, as you might imagine.” His dæmon flicked her tongue in approval.

Josephine cleared her throat. “Dorian is providing his base of knowledge to the expedition.”

“And hoping to learn,” Aurea added. She sunk down onto the table near the candle and closed her eyes.

Cullen sighed. “Maker, will the surprises never end?”

Dorian smiled. “I promise you will find myself and Aurea to be contributing members of your team. Our good looks alone warrant a room, wouldn’t you agree?”

Josephine leaned back in her chair, listening to the two fall into a comfortable match of verbal chess across the table. Zuzen leaned against her cheek. “That was close,” she whispered, and Josephine reached to scratch behind her ears in agreement.

 

* * *

 

“I like Dorian,” Cullen said, as they walked back toward the warehouse. “He’s very clever.”

“He will prove himself useful, I promise you that.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Cullen kicked at some of the freshly fallen snow and looked at her. “Do you think Varric’s made progress?”

“We will see, I suppose. Bull was doubtful it would all come through before the end of the week, but—” Cullen put a hand on her arm, stopping them in their tracks. “What is it?”

“That’s the Viscount’s car,” he said, and smiled. “Perhaps we will be leaving before the week is out after all.”

They ventured closer to the warehouse, and though Josephine wasn’t quite sure what to expect, she nearly sobbed with relief when she saw Varric, Cassandra and an older man sitting together at a makeshift table in front of the airship. It was spread with food and drinks, surrounded by Bull and his Chargers. Varric threw his hands in the air when he saw them approach.

“Ah, our intrepid heroes! You’ve finally returned.” He stood and the other man followed him. He had a beautiful dog dæmon, auburn in color with greys around the nose. She walked beside him, her head resting under his hand, as though worried he might fall. “Josephine, Cullen, I’d like you to meet Viscount Cavin.”

“ _Reluctant_ Viscount Cavin,” the man said, and shook their hands.

Cassandra laughed. “Bran, you have been saying that for almost thirty years now.”

“And the sentiment still stands. I apologize, Lady Montilyet. We are still restricting airship departures from the port, but the office should have put your request into me sooner than today. I, unfortunately, owe your employer a rather hefty number of favors.”

“He’s just sore because I wouldn’t take his job.”

“I will maintain until the day I die—”

“A day that’ll come a lot sooner if we get into a spat about this again,” Varric said, clapping the man on the back. “Come back to the table. We’ll have another drink to celebrate. This ship is taking off!”

“At the end of the week,” Cassandra said quickly.

Josephine thought her knees might give out beneath her. Cullen put a hand on her elbow.

“Look at that,” he said. “It all worked out in the end.” He bent down and scooped up Albine in his arms, joining the others at the table.

“Yes,” she said weakly. Zuzen flowed into her arms and licked her exposed wrist. “I suppose it did.”


	5. a matter of inconvenience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE SHIP FINALLY TOOK OFF

“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.” ― Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

Varric and Cassandra had planned a rather large celebration at their home, the night before the ship was set to depart. Cullen questioned whether boozing up the crew only hours before takeoff was a responsible decision, but was handed a suit and told by Varric not to be late.

Cullen reluctantly got into the car that pulled up in front of his house, pleased to find Josephine on the other side, looking rather _pinched._

“Everything alright?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Her dæmon walked in little circles in her lap, until Josephine snapped, “ _Zuzen_ , settle down.”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s so upset.”

“I am _not_ upset,” she said quickly. “I am merely… _bothered._ ”

Cullen and Albine traded a look before he said, “What’s happened?”

“Oh, it is nothing, really. We have the room, and it is always advisable to have experts on such a trip as this, but I—” She sighed.

“Does this have something to do with Varric keeping you out of the loop?”

“He _does_ this to me, and then Lady Cassandra seems to have no qualms with it. They are both very secretive. It is…distressing, at times. My employers have always been very open with me, but these two…I understand they have led difficult lives, but I am here to _help._ I’ve no intention of prying, of course, but…” She groaned leaning her head back. “I am _tired_ , and we have not even departed.”

Cullen frowned, glancing down at Albine and getting a quick nod from her before he reached across the seat and put a hand on her arm. Josephine looked at him.

“I am sorry,” he said. “Is there something I can do?”

Josephine smiled. “You can be as predictable as you have been, Cullen. It…has been a blessing.”

Cullen laughed, pulling his hand back as the car slowed to a stop. “I promise, no surprises from me.” Someone opened the door for them both, and they hauled themselves out of the car into the night. “Maker,” he said. “There’s, ah, quite a lot of people here.”

From the street, Cullen could tell that every light in the house seemed to be on, and the walk up to the front door was crowded with people. Josephine appeared by his side, linking her arm through his and giving him a nudge. “Look forward constantly. Smile when you are smiled at, but not too open. As soon as they know who you are, they will wish to speak with you.”

“Who is _they_?” Cullen hissed.

Josephine sighed. “Everyone.”

“Andraste preserve us,” Cullen muttered.

“Yes.” They stepped into the house together. “My thoughts exactly.”

 

* * *

 

The house was sweltering, though Cullen suspected it had a great deal to do with the fact that he wore his coat without realizing it for the first fifteen minutes. He felt a hand creep onto his shoulder, and, spinning around nearly pinned Dorian Pavus to the mantle behind him.

“Well it’s _lovely_ to see you again as well.”

Cullen breathed. “ _Dorian._ ”

“Indeed. Is there a particular reason you’re attempting to sweat yourself to death?” Dorian flicked open the buttons of Cullen’s coat. “Take it off, and hand it over. I’ll check it for you.” Cullen agreed, passing the offending thing off into Dorian’s arms. “Here. This is fresh, I promise.” He handed Cullen a glass of wine. “Mingle, for the love of the Maker, Rutherford. And don’t _dawdle_ by Josephine all night. Unlike you, she knows what she’s doing.” Cullen glanced around the room and caught sight of her, laughing with a group of people who looked like they had a great deal of money.

“Oh he’s looking,” Dorian’s dæmon said, her head sliding out from under his sleeve.

“Well it’s hard not to. She’s the most beautiful creature here. Besides us.” Dorian put a hand on Cullen’s elbow. “Tomorrow you’ll be in your element. This will be over before you realize it.” And with a wink, he took Cullen’s coat away.

Albine reared up to put her paws on Cullen’s leg, and he bent down to lift her into his arms.

“I’d prefer to be with the ship,” she said quietly.

“As would I.”

His dæmon sighed. “She _does_ look lovely, doesn’t she?”

“Shut up.” Cullen drained the wine from his glass and set it on the mantle.

“Careful,” Albine said. “It won’t look good for the head of this expedition to get drunk in front of his sponsor’s wealthy friends.”

“Do you really think Varric or Cassandra are _friends_ with any of these people?”

“Well, perhaps _that_ one over there.” Albine flicked her tail toward the corner of the room, where Varric was speaking with an elven woman, the two both rather animated. “I do wonder where Lady Cassandra is, though.” Cullen nodded – he had yet to see her, and it was unlike Varric to be without her very often, from what he understood. Carefully, he made his way through the crowd, keeping his eye contact to a minimum. The bottom floor was stifling hot, and the garden outside seemed to be even more crowded.

“They aren’t friends with any of these people,” Cullen said. “It’s for show.”

“They’re making a point. Perhaps their standing has diminished.”

“Would that _matter?_ ”

“To Varric, yes. I wonder if Bartrand is here.” Albine sighed and Cullen eyed the stairs appreciatively, glancing around the room. He spotted Dorian in the far corner, likely trying to find him and goad him into conversation with some noble he’d never met before. Quickly, Cullen took the stairs two at a time and found himself outside the study where he had first met his employers together.

“Much quieter,” Albine said. “But not where we _should_ be.”

“Would you stop being so paranoid?”

“We’ll look foolish if we get caught up here.”

Cullen huffed. “Just…a minute. I only need a minute.”

“We’ve only _been_ here half an hour. Can you really not stomach it for that long?”

“You speak as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Well,” the tabby said. “At least _downstairs_ is where the wine is.”

Cullen sighed, touching the door to a room he hadn’t seen before. The lights were on, of course, and it was, considering how many books were in the rest of the house, an actual library. There were maps framed on the walls, a few he recognized as his own. Projects for Bartrand, he realized. Every tabletop was covered in photos, and Cullen lifted one carefully, peering down at the man standing by a much younger Varric’s side.

“Is less than an hour with half of Kirkwall’s nobility too much for you?”

Cullen looked up, nearly dropping the photo as Cassandra came into the room. She wore a maroon gown, and the usual braid that was pinned around her head now trailed more traditionally over her shoulder. Her dæmon changed from the cream of the wall behind him to the rich wine color of her dress in an instant.

“I…that’s only _half_?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Cassandra laughed, coming further into the room and extending her hand for the photograph. Cullen passed it to her. “Something like that,” she said. “Varric wanted everyone to know we had finally succeeded. Unfortunately the only person he cared about being here did not show.”

“Bartrand,” Cullen said.

“Yes. I told him that his brother was old, and he hasn’t felt well for more than a year. But brothers can be peculiar about one another. We are lucky to have acquired a few additional siblings in our travels.”

“Is that Ser Hawke?”

“It is. This was taken just after Varric and I met. You were still a child, I’m sure.”

“I thought Hawke and Varric became friends because of the Deep Roads expedition?”

“Well they certainly became closer. But, no. Hawke and his siblings were a part of our family before we had even married. It is a long story,” she added, carefully placing the frame back on the table. “I’m certain it would bore you.”

Cullen doubted that very much, but he allowed her to change the subject. “These maps—”

“Gifts, from Bartrand and others.”

“I made some of these?”

“You did, yes. That one, I believe.” She pointed to a framed map of the Marches. “A few others. Bartrand speaks highly of your work.”

“I’m bring a project of his along with me.”

“Ah, yes. I’m sure he’s wondering if you’ve forgotten him. I will have Varric write to him after we depart.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Cassandra smiled. “The two of us should probably return to the party. Maker only knows what they’ll be saying.” Cullen’s face flushed at the implication, and Cassandra laughed. “You must learn to take yourself less seriously.”

“Not that you aren’t a catch,” a quiet voice said. Cullen realized it was her dæmon. He hadn’t heard him speak before.

“Itzal, do not _goad_.”

“Merely an observation,” he said.

“Yes, well, I am fairly certain there are much younger, much prettier creatures downstairs that Mr. Rutherford has his eye on. Come along, we should make sure Varric hasn’t bet the apartment in Val Chevin, _again._ ”

 

* * *

 

It turned out the gardens were a far better place to be than inside. Cullen found himself in the cool hair of winter, his coat now returned to him as he discussed the details for the next day’s departure with Bull and Krem.

“It’ll be easy enough to keep things running smooth once we’re in the air,” Bull said. He’d shifted from glasses to bottles fairly early on in the evening. Nobody argued. “But we need to make calls ahead to the ports in case we have to land for repairs.”

“Should be easy enough,” Krem said. His robin dæmon puffed up on his shoulder. “Doubt we’ll have to do much, ‘less we’re snagged by pirates up there.”

Cullen shook his head. “Airspace that way is pretty clear, we—”

“Oy, gents. More nosh? Maybe a cracker or somethin’?” A little elf with a tray stepped between them, her head ducked, eyes turned down. Bull opened his mouth to excuse her, but Cullen knew better. He bent low, under the tray of food, and found her there, mouth turned up in a crooked grin. “Evenin’ ser.”

“ _Sera._ ”

“Nope. Mafelda. At your service tonight.”

“Sera, _what_ are you doing here?”

“You know I think we have a Sera inside. She’s not an elf, she’s a dwarf. Very cute, very pretty.”

Cullen snatched the tray from her hands and passed it to Bull. Albine scampered up and settled on his shoulder, hissing. “She’s hiding,” she said.

“ _Ugh_ , alright.” Sera put her hands on her hips, her mockingbird dæmon fluttering up onto the top of her head. “I followed you here and snuck in the back. Lots of spare bits back there, wasn’t hard. They just thought I was one of the help.”

Bull frowned. “Who is this?”

“A friend,” Cullen said quickly. “You can’t be here, you need to go.”

“What if I had work here, huh? Then what would you say?”

“ _Go faster._ ”

She scowled at him. “Well, I _don’t_ have work. I did a job last week, and now I’ve got guards all over me and whatever them dwarves is called that does the shady nonsense ‘round these parts.”

“ _The Coterie?_ You’ve got the Coterie after you? Sera, _what_ happened?”

“Messed with the wrong bloke. I mean he was the right bloke, did the wrong thing. But wrong bloke because he has the right friends, you see? Right and wrong aren’t easy anymore, it’s a pity.”

Bull chucked. “You’re a Red Jenny.”

Cullen shushed him. “You need to go.”

“Yeah, I need to go, but _where?_ ”

Cullen took her by the hand and pulled her into a corner of the garden. “You have a dozen place to go, don’t lie to me.”

Sera folded her arms tightly over her chest, kicking at the snow. “Yeah, I know. I just…wanted to go with you.”

Cullen felt his chest tighten, and Albine flowed down to meet Sera’s mockingbird dæmon, Prema on the ground. Their noses touched, briefly, and Cullen reached out to draw Sera into his arms. She breathed against him, shivering in the cold.

“Of course you can come with me,” he said quietly. “I’ll arrange for it—”

“Cullen?”

He let go of Sera, keeping his hands firmly on her shoulders as Josephine stepped closer to them. He hadn’t realized before just how lovely her dress was – black as night with gold patterning the front and back. In an instant he realized how strange he looked, embracing a random elf dressed as a servant, their dæmons touching cautiously. Scandalous, really.

“I…Josephine this is Sera.”

“I see.”

“Sera is a friend, she…she’s in a bit of bind—”

“Are you in charge of this expedition thingy?” Sera asked. Josephine looked taken aback.

“I…I am, in a manner of speaking.”

“I’ve got things packed, and I’m a good shot. Cullen says I can come.”

“ _Sera._ ”

“I’ll be useful, and if you say no, I’ll probably end up on your ship anyway.”

Josephine frowned. “There will be no stowaways.”

“So I guess you should just say _yes_ then, yeah?”

“I don’t know you, you haven’t been vetted—”

“I can vouch for her,” Cullen said, stepping forward.

“Yes, I’m sure you can,” Josephine snapped. “I will take it up with Master Tethras. In the meantime it would be more suitable for you to be _inside_ , Mr. Rutherford, where our guests might meet the leader of this excursion.” She lifted her skirts and Cullen found himself under the piercing gaze of Zuzen, wrapped around Josephine neck as she went back inside.

Sera whistled. “She’s tough.”

“She’s had a rough week.”

“No, it’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I like it.”

“Cute, too,” said Prema, fluttering back up to Sera’s shoulder.

“Right.” Cullen turned back to her. “Meet me at the warehouse where the ship is docked tomorrow at nine. Not a minute before, you understand that? I’ll…think of something. Get home and pack.”

“Sure thing.” Sera turned to go, but she stopped, looking back at Cullen before lightly punching his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “I really mean it.”

“I told you I would be here for you,” he said. “Now get going. I won’t have time to stall for you tomorrow because you’ve forgotten to pack your bees.”

 

* * *

 

When Cullen arrived at the warehouse the following morning, it was empty, but for the Chargers and Bull, loading a few last minute packages into the cargo.

“Josie’s in the office,” Bull said, and Cullen nodded. He stood by the door and knocked quietly, startling her from her letter writing.

“ _Cullen._ ”

“Sorry, I should have—”

“No.” She stood. “I am sorry.”

“Um—”

“I was rude, last night. I was angry because I felt slighted and I took it out on you and your friend. If she would like to join us, I have faith in your own confidence. It won’t be necessary to question her.”

“Josephine—”

“Master Tethras has invited a young noble woman from Ostwick to join us. She is a researcher at the university there. That was the source of my frustrations last night. This morning, I see things clearer.”

Cullen nodded. “There’s nothing to forgive. This woman, though. What kind of researcher is she? I understand why Dorian might be invited—”

“She researches Dust,” Josephine said.

Cullen frowned. “You can’t research Dust.”

“Apparently, you can. She is well known for it, I believe. She’s published a great deal.”

“Why would she be joining us?”

“Her research indicates there is a great deal of Dust in our world the further north you travel. Varric and Cassandra are quite willing to have her on board. I’m sure sponsoring her next paper or presentation will be fruitful for them, in some way. But…they are rather interested in the subject themselves. We don’t speak about it much, but I do know it is a matter of some importance to them.” She sighed. “I will never understand people with too much money.”

“That we can agree on.”

Josephine smiled. “There is also the matter of her…companion.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lady Trevelyan—”

“I’m sorry, a _Trevelyan?_ ”

“Yes.”

Cullen laughed. “The Trevelyans have no daughters. They have _sons_ , and each is lazier than the last.”

“That is not the case here.” Cullen raised a brow. “I assure you, she _is_ a Trevelyan. She is also engaged. Her fiancé, however, is…a mystery to me. I cannot acquire much information on him, but she will not join us without him, and it is not possible for to, well, _not_ join us. Lady Cassandra was rather insistent.”

“Alright.”

“So I will need you to…watch him. I will as well, of course, and I have informed Bull.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ranier,” she said.

Albine said from below them, “Sounds familiar.”

“I agree,” Jospehine said. “But I have no time to look into it, and frankly I would rather not hold things up just to do a background check. It will take days. I’ve submitted one, so hopefully they will send it along should they find anything worthy of mentioning.”

“Alright. Is that all?”

“It is.”

“Really.”

“Yes,” Josephine said, falling into the desk chair heavily. “ _Really._ ”

Cullen laughed. “We’re finally here, then. It’s happened.”

“It has.”

He sighed. “I’ll go tell Sera she can come along. I’m sure she’s been hiding in the rafters since before you arrived.”

“But I did not notice—”

“You didn’t,” he said. “That’s the point of her.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen stood at the bow of the airship, and watched Kirkwall’s harbor grow smaller and smaller. Albine leaned as close as she could to the edge, giving a flustered yowl when Cullen pushed her back with his boot.

“I won’t _fall._ ”

“Let’s not take that risk.” He had been pulled from her before. He did not wish to relive the experience.

“Enjoying the view, Curly?”

Cullen turned and found Varric striding toward him, considerably dressed down for the trip. His dæmon eyed Albine carefully, then sauntered over to inspect the navigation equipment.

“It’s quite lovely.”

“Kirkwall does tend to look better the farther away from it you get.” Varric leaned against the railing. “Still. Always miss it, when I go.”

“It’s your home.”

Varric nodded. “Where’s your home, Cullen?”

“Honnleath,” he said.

“Family?”

“My mother lives there, and my younger sister. My brother and elder sister are married, now. They both live in Denerim.”

“Scattered, then.”

“Yes.”

“You miss them.”

Cullen sighed. “I do, sometimes. We’re all very busy, and not incredibly sentimental. Mia is, my elder sister. She’s the one who does all the writing. She’ll be furious when she knows I’ve left again without telling her.”

Varric chuckled. “Keeps her on her toes, I suspect.”

“I’m sure.”

Varric sighed. “Well, I better see that the Seeker feels alright. She’s not a good flyer.” He paused. “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, and smiled as Varric and Brigid made their way down the stairs. He turned back to the view of the sky before him, watching as they made their way up through the clouds.

“I’ve found you,” a voice said, and Cullen turned to find Josephine coming up the stairs.

“Varric sold me out.”

“He did.”

Cullen sighed. “It feels good to be in the air.”

“Yes, it does. We have certainly worked for it.”

Cullen looked at her. “You know, I didn’t thank you for forcing me into all this. It is rather appreciated.”

“Oh, come now. You would have agreed in time. Adventure, gold, _maps._ Your favorite things, yes?”

“Some of them, I’ll admit.”

“See?” Josephine looked out as the large bay windows over the front of the ship began to close, sealing them inside. “We are blessed.”

“We are.”

“I should thank you as well, I think. I was…unsure about all of this. You have helped me, in a way. Your own confidence was good for mine.”

“I’m glad for that.”

Josephine smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. “To a pleasant journey, Mr. Rutherford.”

He laughed, taking her hand and giving it a hearty shake. “Agreed, Lady Montilyet. To a pleasant journey indeed.”


	6. how lucky for us

“Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh has gone through; I dream of what it may go through.” ― Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

Josephine had come to realize several things since the airship had, finally, left port.

The first was that her employers had far more money than she had first believed. Not a single thing that could potentially be needed on a trip such as this was missing, from any sort of ale the Chargers seemed to ask for, to spare _socks._ Each morning, breakfast was a full one, served in a sort of open eating space on the middle level of the ship – it had _three_ , and that was something she’d forgotten. There was always music, always laughter, and at the center of it all – Varric, with any number of stories on hand, ready to entertain.

The second was she had no idea that Lady Cassandra detested flying. The woman spent the first few days of the trip her room, pretending to have a headache, according to Varric, but actually being quite sick. Josephine suggested ginger, and was told a few days later that the Seeker was feeling much better.

The third thing she had not truly realized, and now saw quite clearly, was that Cullen Rutherford was supremely qualified to be leading this expedition. Josephine was _hardly_ green in comparison, but there was something he had that she did not quite possess.

He could _command_ , and it was quite a sight to behold when they gathered the crew together at the end of the week to go over some issues that had arisen.

Josephine stood in front of them, attempting to call the attention of the Chargers, the spare crew, Varric and Cassandra’s friends – and to no avail. Only Dorian seemed to be listening, sitting amused in the front, his snake dæmon curled around his wrist.

“If you will _please_ settle down, there are a few things—” Josephine sighed, and attempted to raise her voice. “I am _sure_ you will have plenty of time to—”

From her right, a piercing whistle rang out around the hall, and the chatter died down.

“Lady Montilyet is _speaking_ ,” Cullen said. “You will _listen._ ”

Josephine swallowed as each set of eyes in the room turned to her. She smiled. “Thank you, Cullen.”

“But of course.”

Josephine continued with the meeting, informing them that it was not acceptable to drink while doing inspections, nor was it appropriate to dangle smaller members of the crew over the edge when they reached lower altitudes.

 

* * *

 

Part of Josephine’s job was to insure that the crew was comfortable at all times. With Bull and his Chargers, this was hardly a task. They could sleep anywhere, and often  _did._ Josephine frequently found them passed out at the tables before breakfast in the morning, or napping against the engine in the afternoon. They played cards constantly, drank every day, and cooked every night. Josephine had never been so well  _fed_ on a trip before. Bull was an excellent chef, and he’d been keeping his boys fed for years now.

“Chief never lets us down,” Krem had said. “No matter how high we climb.”

But where Bull and the Chargers were easy, Dorian Pavus was _difficult._

It was not that he wanted a nicer room, or better accommodations, or anything fancy, really. It was that he was constantly in search of somewhere quiet, and Josephine could not provide.

“I am a _researcher_ and a _writer_ , my dear Josie. I require space to do both.” His dæmon lifted her head, flicking her tongue out at Josephine and Zuzen. The stoat hissed. Aurea hissed back.

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I understand this, Dorian, but we are on a ship being powered by a very large piece of machinery. It makes _noise._ ”

“There must be at least _one_ quiet place on this ship,” he complained.

Josephine shook her head. “I cannot—

“I’ve got a quiet place you can use, ‘Vint.” Bull came around the corner, and Josephine was struck again by how _amusing_ the comparison between the Qunari and his dæmon was – a great hulking man, and a small, twitchy little hare that he usually held in both hands.

“Yes, you have _mentioned_ to me how quiet and _peaceful_ your quarters are, Qunari.” Dorian scowled. “Doesn’t this breech some sort of harassment protocol?”

“Ask me to stop, Pavus, and I’ll stop.” Bull grinned and Dorian flushed, fists clenching by his sides.

“I will not require your assistance in this matter,” the mage said, and turned sharply on his heel.

Bull chuckled. “He’s fun.”

“Please do not infuriate him. He could set you on fire.”

“I’d like to see _that_ ,” the Qunari said, and kept on walking, muttering to his dæmon, “It’ll work eventually.”

“You keep saying that, but he’s as stubborn as you.”

“Ah,” he said. “A challenge, then.”

Josephine groaned.

 

* * *

 

By far, though, the easiest person to deal with so far was Sera.

The elf was, for the most part, completely invisible, right until she did not want to be. Josephine often found her hanging upside down from the metal beams on the top floor of the ship, or hidden under tables, scribbling into a notebook.

“Are you comfortable with your arrangements?” Josephine asked her once, when she’d found her sitting on top of a table.

“Very. Ship’s big, I’m small.”

“You have a room—”

“Smells funny. Like oil.”

“Like _oil?_ Is there a leak? I will have Krem—”

“Cullen looked at it. No problems. Just…smells funny.” Sera shrugged, watching her mockingbird dæmon fly up as high as he could manage before sailing back down to her shoulder. “Cullen lets me sleep in his room when he isn’t using it.”

Josephine frowned. “When is he not using his room?”

Sera shrugged. “Dunno. Ask him,” she said and picked herself up to find another spot to hide in.

 

* * *

 

“I see Varric has made you quite comfortable.”

Josephine sat at her desk, surprised when she heard Cassandra’s voice from the doorway. She looked paler, perhaps a bit thinner, with light blue circles beneath her eyes.

“Lady Cassandra—”

“Please, I cannot bear another minute of ‘ _are you well’_ , my dear.” Cassandra moved into the room, sitting in one of the spare chairs. Her dæmon marched slowly down her arm and settled onto her hand, chin resting on her knuckles. “We are just fine.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“You’ve taken to the air quite well.”

“It comes with practice.” Zuzen rolled over in her lap, and Josephine rubbed a thumb along her stomach. “We did worry for you.”

Cassandra sighed. “I used to be quite adept, if you can believe it. When I was younger, when Varric and I traveled more often, it was never a problem. But, now—” She closed her eyes. “It is a trial to age.”

Josephine set down her pen. “You have done it with much grace, my lady.”

“It is kind of you to say so.” Cassandra reached out to touch a photograph on the desk. “Is this your family?”

“Yes.”

“They are very handsome. I see where you get your eyes.” Cassandra smiled. “Do you miss them?”

“That is…a difficult question to answer.” Zuzen clamored up and onto the desk, peering closely at the photo. She spoke often of their family. Josephine preferred to keep quiet.

“Oh?”

“I correspond with them quite frequently, and my sister Yvette is a photographer, in her spare time. She sends me photos each week, if she can manage it. She is getting married in the Spring.”

“You will not miss it?”

“No, I suspect we will return far before then.”

“As do I,” Cassandra said, and stood. She lifted her hand to place her dæmon on her shoulder. Josephine admired the grace in that one motion, the way that age had not seemed to remove the purpose in the woman’s movements. Every step, every gesture, _mattered._ She was as effortlessly practiced as half the nobles in Orlais, and infinitely more regal.

“Do not remain here today, Josephine. The day is lovely. We must land in Ostwick to meet with Lady Trevelyan and her fiancé.”

Josephine frowned. “Forgive me, my lady, I had forgotten.”

Cassandra smiled. “I could understand why. Varric often neglects to inform the most important people of the most vital details.”

“Does it not…bother you?”

Cassandra considered the question for a momet. “No,” she said. “My husband has a great many flaws, but they are what makes me love him all the more.” She looked at the dæmon on her shoulder, reaching up to brush her fingers over his scaly head. “He has had a hard life. He can be forgiven for leaving out a few minor details.” Cassandra turned and opened the door to leave. “Ah, Cullen.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “You have excellent timing. I was just leaving.” She bowed her head respectfully and walked out. Cullen shifted awkwardly on his feet.

Josephine glanced up at him, smiling. “Is everything well?”

“Ah, yes, it is. I only—” He cleared his throat. “Bull is landing the ship. He’s concerned about a noise with the engine, he _says._ And Varric says they must speak with Trevelyan before she comes aboard.”

“Alright. Well I am sure it will be a chance for all of us to complete important—”

“Perhaps you should like to join me for dinner, in the city? I know of a place, I understand it's quite good. Varric said he and Cassandra would be meeting with Lady Trevelyan all afternoon. We’ll depart again in the morning.”

“Oh.” Josephine reached out a hand and Zuzen laid her head on it. At Cullen’s feet, his dæmon flicked her tail anxiously, pawing uncertainly at the ground. “That…yes. I would like that very much.”

“We’ll be traveling quite a ways together,” Cullen said quickly. “I only…well I thought it might—”

“ _Cullen._ ” He stopped, and looked right at her. “I would love to have dinner with you.”

“Right. Yes, of course.” He nodded. “Tonight, then.”

“Tonight.”

He smiled and turned to go, walking right into the closed door.

“Ah. I, um. I thought that was open.” He flushed, opened the door, and practically ran out.

Zuzen lifted her head.

“He’s _odd._ ”

“He is.”

The little stoat rested again in Josephine’s palm.

“But we’re quite fond of him.”

Josephine nodded. “Yes, we are.”

 

* * *

 

Bull landed the ship into Ostwick with ease, so cleverly that Josephine hardly noticed. She dressed for the evening, shrugging on her coat and placing her gloves in her pockets before locking her door behind her.

“Someone looks and _smells_ wonderful.”

“Dorian.”

He grinned, leaning against the wall, a coat in his arms. Aurea seemed to cackle. “He was terribly nervous about asking you.”

Josephine frowned. “You know—”

“Of course I know. He and that little elf friend of his were babbling about it. She suggested he bake for you, but I couldn’t bear the smell I think.”

“Oh.” Under her coat, Zuzen huffed, burying her head against the folds of her blouse. “Well, that was…very congenial of you.”

“I _do_ try. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bookstore here that I must patron.” Dorian pulled on his coat as Aurea waggled her tail at them. “Enjoy yourself, my dear.”

Josephine sighed, sliding her hands into her pockets and making her way through the ship. They had docked in one of Ostwick’s airship ports, meaning the process had been smooth and everything she saw out of the windows was shiny and new. Josephine expected Cullen to be on the ramp leading to the dock, or perhaps already there, but one of the Chargers told her that he hadn’t made it down from his quarters yet. Frowning, Josephine ascended the stairs to the top floor of the ship, knocking gently on the door to Cullen’s room.

“ _Come in_ ,” he said from inside. Josephine pushed open the door.

He was seated at a rather large writing desk, bolted to the floor. It was slanted up, a desklamp arching over it as he bent low, his nose nearly touching the paper he was carefully marking on. He wore a strange pair of goggles that covered his entire face, and his dæmon was perched on the crest of his shoulders, peering closely at his work. She looked up and bent low to say something in his ear.

“ _Josephine!_ ”

“Um, yes.”

“What time—” He looked at his watch and swore at his dæmon. “Maker’s breath. You were _supposed_ to tell me when we were about to be _late._ ”

“I did,” Albine said coolly, dropping to the floor.

Josephine laughed. “We did not really agree upon a time. I made an educated guess.”

“You guessed correctly, but it’s not your fault.” He straightened and pulled the goggles off his face. “Varric wanted to make sure I could still work on my maps. I’ve got clients still back home, one being his brother.”

“I have not seen your maps. May I?” She stepped closer to the desk, and Cullen nodded. Josephine peered down at the parchment, feeling Zuzen poke her head out from under the coat.

The detail work was _beautiful_ , she thought. The ink was in different shades across the paper, the lines clean and straight where they needed to be, curved when it was necessary. Borders and buildings were clearly defined, but the finer points were there. Even the little homes that dotted the page had roofs, doors, windows — it was _art_.

“Maker, Cullen. This…this is lovely.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. This is Bartrand’s actually. It’s a map of Orzammar.”

“I’m sure he misses it terribly.”

“Ah, Varric’s told you the story.”

“There are not many stories Varric _hasn’t_ told me,” she said.

Cullen chuckled. “I suspect not. Let me wash up, I’ll meet you by the docks in ten minutes.”

“Of course,” she said, and turned to go.

Josephine had been to Ostwick only once, and for only a moment. She’d been visiting then on business, so she found herself feeling rather out of place along the streets of the downtown. String lights decorated every storefront, but Cullen told her that they often left them up throughout the year.

“It’s beautiful in the summer. Everything looks like starlight.”

“You’ve been here before.”

“My mother has family here. Or had. I don’t think they live here anymore. Marchers are…difficult people. They’ve done a great deal of fighting, even recently.” He put his hands in his pocket, and he looked a sight, standing in front of a lit café, his tabby on his shoulder. “Ah, this is the place.” He walked ahead of her and pushed open the door to a little hole in the wall. “I promise, it’s quite good.”

Josephine nodded, stepping inside. She smelled cooked meats, immediately, and pastries. They sat together at a table and a waitress brought over tea right away.

“Does this place sell…only pies?” Josephine asked.

“Ah, yes. It’s…rather Ferelden.” He flushed and she laughed. “Is it alright?”

“You underestimate my love for Ferelden delicacies, Mr. Rutherford.”

“Well, aren’t I lucky then?” he said, and Josephine ducked her head.

They spent the evening trading stories of younger siblings, of mother’s who worried too much of marriage. Cullen told her of his first expedition, to a crypt in Tevinter that turned out to be a group of bear cubs making too much noise.

“Was their mother near?”

“She was.”

“What did you _do?_ ”

“What any veteran of the Ferelden military would do in such a situation.” He drained his glass of ale and set it down with a grin. “Prayed to the Maker and _ran._ ”

Josephine laughed, nearly spitting her wine across the table. “ _Wonderful._ ”

“I wasn’t being _paid_ enough to become bear food. And I was terribly green.” He sighed. “Honestly, the work I did after I got out of the army was…a blessing, compared to the things they asked us to do.” Josephine nodded. She had wondered what Dorian had meant by Templar, why Cassandra insisted she not pry into Cullen’s past. “I’m sure Varric’s told you,” he said.

“He hasn’t. But you don’t—”

“No,” he said. “You…deserve to know.” Cullen looked into his empty glass. “Perhaps another, and my tongue would be a bit looser.”

“Cullen—”

But he shook his head, and in a moment the glass was full again. He took a long drink. “No one…no one really knows. Of course Varric and Cassandra know, they know everything. I’m sure they were the ones who told Dorian. It was smart of them to do so. I’d have hated to hash that out with him over open water. Having you there…being where we were. It made it easier.” He paused. “Sera knows, of course. But Sera knows everything.”

“Should I drink more wine?” she asked.

Cullen smiled. “Probably.”

And in the dim light of the café, he told her the story of a boy who had been spurned from the Tethras expedition into the Deep Roads, told by a younger Varric not to throw his life away to darkspawn. He told her how he had gone to Denerim and enlisted straight away, and been promoted with easy.

“I was trainable,” he said. “They could…I could do anything they asked me to. And I did. It was easy. It was the Maker’s work, they said. Mages in Ferelden were starting to get more plentiful, and that meant more power. There were groups of them, and the King worried that if they went unchecked they would ruin us. They would take the country for their own. So he had a group formed. Soldiers with exceptional skills, one being the ability to take orders.” He looked at her. “I was one them.”

He took another drink and continued. “They asked us to find the mages and remind them that they were citizens of Ferelden, and above no one. More often than not, we found mages living together in villages they had built, peacefully. They created colleges of study, and they were happy to have us. We provided them with supplies, and resources. The ones who allied themselves with us prospered. And we trusted them to be safe. But there were others who…they did not feel that way.”

“We reached a group at a village called Kinloch. They had brought non-mages into the tower. They were experimenting on them. The place smelled _fowl_ , and they had the jump on us. I lost friends that day, and those of us who lived were taken.”

“Cullen—” Josephine reached out to put her hand over his, but he drew back, instead grasping his dæmon with both hands.

“I won’t speak any more of that. The stories Dorian mentioned claimed that we escaped and killed the mages.”

“You said you did not—”

Cullen swallowed.

“I lied.”

Josephine felt Zuzen stiffen in her lap. “Oh.”

“The stories speak of a slaughter, but that wasn’t the case. We escaped from our holdings and the mages were set upon us. We had to fight, to escape. As many soldiers as mages died that day. In the end there were only a handful of us left on each side. Their leader was wounded. I was asked to…to put him down.”

“Did you?”

“No. And that’s the truth. He is in prison, as are the mages we found that day. Most were made tranquil, though that was not my decision and was beyond me at the time. I was promoted, but I left in a few years. It was a weight, not an honor. They called us Templars, and they still do. Those men and women are still chosen, to keep a thumb over mages who might…might do as Uldred did.”

Josephine stared at him.

“I know,” he said. “I know what you must think of me. This is hardly how I wanted the evening to go—”

“It was something you did,” she said quietly. “You clearly take no pride in it.”

“No.”

“But I see now why Dorian was afraid.”

“I’m sure he still is, to some extent. This is not something I speak of often. People…they have their opinions of what happened there. Of what Templars _do._ Some are proud, some are not.” He looked at her, and finally reached for her hand. His own shook. “I left and I…I lost myself in maps and places I had never been. Every day it gets easier, but…it still—”

“I understand.”

“Do you, though?”

“Cullen. It is hardly my place to judge you for your past. It…frightens me, I will admit that. But I do my battles with words and ink. I have never raised a sword or a gun in my life. And I do not intend to.”

“Well, that’s for the best, perhaps.” He sighed and looked at his glass. “I think I’m finished for the night.”

“You did not have to tell me any of that,” Josephine said quietly.

“No,” he admitted, and Albine reached up, butting her head against his chin. “But I…we trust you.”

Josephine felt her heart skip a beat, and Zuzen shuddered. “We trust you, too.”

 

* * *

 

They walked slowly back to the ship, Cullen bringing her straight to her room. They stood there for a moment, the honesty of the night draped over them, shielding them from anyone who might have walked by.

But no one did, and they were alone with the truth.

“Thank you for listening,” Cullen said quietly.

“Thank you for trusting me.” She reached forward and took his hands in her own. Cullen ran his thumbs over her gloves, staring at them carefully.

She wondered what he saw in them.

“I’ll feel the ale in the morning, I suspect.”

“Perhaps.” She drew one hand away and into her pocket, reaching for her key. “I should rest, as should you.”

“Of course.”

“We must meet Lady Trevelyan in the morning, and I’m sure—” Josephine froze, feeling Cullen’s lips pressed on her cheek. “ _Oh_ ,” she said quietly.

He cleared his throat. “I, ah…forgive me. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” she murmured, gripping her key tight in her hands. “I only…you missed.”

“What—”

Before she could change her mind, or consider why it might not be wise – Josephine pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his own rather quickly, before pulling away.

“Good night, Cullen.” She could feel his dæmon’s gaze on Zuzen, and her own dæmon trembled against her breasts.

Cullen swallowed. Albine settled between his feet.

“Good night, Josephine.” He gave her a weak smile before bending down to lift his dæmon into his arms.

Reluctantly, Josephine closed the door behind her, leaning against it until she heard him walk away. With trembling hands she undid the buttons of her coat, and Zuzen tumbled out, shaking.

“Oh, my _dear._ ”

“We had not planned on this,” her dæmon said quietly.

“No,” Josephine said. “We certainly had not.”

 


	7. pirates, in a manner of speaking

“What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want.” ― Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

Sat across from Evelyn Trevelyan and her fiancé, Cullen was struck with the impression that they were two people who had raged against the world. Trevelyan was willowy, with brown hair knotted into an intricate braid just above the nape of her neck. Her hawk dæmon perched on the back of the chair she sat ram-rod straight in, her hands resting carefully in her lap. She and the bird seemed very far away from one another – it made Cullen nervous. Albine twitched in his lap, echoing the sentiment.

Her fiancé was stocky, taller than she, but made of stone. Grey streaks ran through his beard, but unlike the woman at his side, he kept one hand on his dæmon all through the meeting, stroking the top of her head. She was a large black dog, the breed unknown to Cullen, and very quiet.

Trevelyan was a professor, and a researcher.

She researched _Dust._

“This expedition isn’t in search of Dust,” Cullen had muttered to Josephine earlier that day, after several hours of silence between them both. The two had resolutely _not_ spoken of their kiss. The morning after, she had met him at breakfast, smiled, and handed him her crunchier bits of bacon. But that had been it. Since then it had rested between them, as if they entered into some kind of unspoken arrangement not to mention it.

It did not settle well with Cullen.

“According to Dr. Trevelyan’s research, Dust can be found in concentrated quantities very far north. Lady Cassandra mentioned to me that Varric is quite interested in Dust, but would not explain why.”

“What a surprise.”

Now, seated across from a so-called _expert_ on the matter, Cullen could think of nothing but the odd tension between she and her dæmon, and the strangest feeling he seemed to get from the man next to her. Varric and Cassandra talked with them each openly, but Cullen had not been included in the conversation beyond his brief introduction. He sat, transfixed, until someone came by and put a hand on his shoulder.

“My dear  Cullen.”

“ _Dorian!_ ” Cullen practically leapt out of his seat, but no one seemed to notice his hasty departure. “Maker, you rescued me,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. Albine twisted between his legs. “That was…uncomfortable.”

“Yes,” Dorian said dryly. “She’s clearly been groomed.” He gestured toward Trevelyan and her dæmon. “It’s something we do in Tevinter as well.”

“…Groomed?”

“Training. Trials. Among wealthier families with political sway dæmons are considered a display of weakness. If you touch it or allow it to touch you, it can give away the crack in your armor. Back home we have specialists who teach you how to keep yourself separated. I have _heard_ that some families in the South are a bit more…aggressive with their techniques.”

“How?”

“Allowing other people to _touch_ your dæmon, for one,” he said, and shuddered. His snake dæmon popped from under his collar, giving his cheek a sympathetic flick with her tongue. Cullen reached for Albine without thinking. “That’s one line we don’t cross, back home. If you can’t touch your own dæmon, no one _else_ can, either.”

“They don’t… _cut_ , do they?” Cullen had come across the process in his travels – scientists who thought they knew better, prisoners who were punished by having their dæmon removed. The process of being made tranquil included severing the bond between dæmon and mage – Cullen had witnessed it a handful of times. He preferred not to think on it.

“Not that I know of, though it certainly appears that way—” Dorian stopped mid-sentence, looking head. Cullen followed his gaze, and realized they were being watched by Trevelyan’s dæmon, as well as her fiancé’s. Dorian cleared his throat. “Ah, what’s his name, then? The man she’s engaged to?”

“Hmm?” Cullen tore his gaze away, and the two began walking down the hall. “Oh, it’s, ah, Ranier. Thom Ranier.”

“Rather broody looking fellow,” Dorian observed.

“Agreed.” Cullen absently stroked a thumb over Albine’s head. “You and your dæmon are quite close,” he said.

“We are,” Dorian murmured, reaching into his shirt to pull Aurea from her hiding place. “We could not be trained. My father tried…many things. When the conditioning failed he turned to harsher practices. I had disappointed him yet again. She was supposed to be something else, apparently.”

“Dæmons settle as they will,” Cullen said with a smile, remembering the surprise of others when Albine had done the same. “Nothing can change that.”

Dorian shrugged. “My father thought some things could.” He looked at his dæmon fondly, and she at him. For a moment, Cullen felt embarrassed, as if watching something rather intimate. Dorian finally sighed and allowed the snake to disappear up his sleeve. “Well I’ve made myself _distraught_ ,” he announced. “Let’s go have a drink then, shall we, Mr. Rutherford?”

“I’d be a fool to decline, Dr. Pavus.”

 

* * *

 

They were several days out of Ostwick when Thom Ranier paid Cullen a visit. A storm was attempting to unsettle the airship. The decks were empty, the mess hall devoid of life. Everyone had taken refuge from the barrage of rain in their quarters. Sera sat on the floor, flipping through a book of photos, her dæmon flying around and teasing Albine.

“Don’t be cross with me when she eats her,” Cullen warned. Someone knocked and he crossed the room, ducking to avoid Prema’s flips through the air. “Ah, Mr. Ranier.”

“Mr. Rutherford.”

“ _Ugh._ ” Sera pushed herself off the bed and snatched Prema out of the air. “This is _already_ boring,” she said and slid past them. “I’m gonna go snag some cookies, yeah?”

“Be careful!” Cullen called after her, shaking his head and closing the door. “Come in, come in.” Ranier nodded, his hand still resting on his dæmon’s head as they walked further into the room. “I apologize for leaving the two of you yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He looked around the room, eyes falling on Cullen’s desk. “You’re the mapmaker then?”

“I make maps, yes. It’s not my sole profession.”

“I’ve seen some of your work.”

“Have you? I don’t sell to many place in the Marches outside of Kirkwall—”

“In Orlais,” he amended. “I spent a great deal of my youth there.”

“I’m Ferelden to the bone, so I’m terribly sorry.”

Ranier chuckled. “I appreciate the sentiment.” He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the desk as Cullen settled into his place again, looking over his work so far. “I understand you’re in charge of this expedition.”

“Parts of it.” Ranier raised a brow. “Josephine Montilyet is the expedition _manager_ ,” he said. “She…has tasks outside my realm of patience and expertise. Documents and the like.”

“Not a people person.”

“I do my best,” Cullen confessed. “What of you, sir? Your work before you joined us was…”

“Military. I was in the Orlesian forces for some time. Then with the Grey Wardens.”

Cullen was surprised. “The Wardens? Maker, I haven’t met a Warden since I was in the army myself.”

“It was…a better life than the one offered to me.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. Albine hopped into his lap, pawing nervously at his trousers. “What was offered to you?”

Ranier looked down at his hands, then his dæmon, giving her a smile. She leaned against his leg, closing her eyes. “Prison,” he said quietly.

Cullen frowned. “What did you do?”

“I killed someone.”

“Who?”

“A man. I won’t say more than that.”

“Just the one?”

“Yes.”

“And instead of putting you in prison you were conscripted to the Grey Wardens.”

“That’s right.”

Cullen sighed, letting his body slump, bringing a hand over his face. “Do Varric and Cassandra know about this?”

“I suspect they do. There’s very little they don’t know.”

“Yes, well, as has been the trend around here, _they_ know something and it takes me six weeks to find out.” Cullen stood quickly, shaking his head. “So you were young, I suspect?”

“Quite.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So that you’ll be comfortable with my presence.” He paused. “I thought perhaps of anyone _you_ might understand.”

“Because I was a Templar?” Ranier nodded. “What I had to do was not the same as _murder._ ”

“Some might argue it is—”

“Then _some_ would be wrong.” Cullen turned quickly. “Are you done trying to garner my sympathy?”

Ranier stood. “That wasn’t my intent, Mr. Rutherford. I only wanted to be honest with you.”

“Yes, well I do enjoy how everybody waits until the last _minute_ to be upfront with me about these sorts of things,” he snapped. “Thank you for taking the initiative. I will not judge you past this moment, so long as you make yourself useful.”

“I can,” Ranier said firmly. “I _will._ ”

Cullen sighed. “I suppose that’s all I can ask, isn’t it?”

Ranier nodded and turned to go, pausing by the door. “I appreciate you not turning me out of my ass.”

“We’re several thousand feet above the ground,” Cullen muttered. “Consider it a charity.”

After the man had left, Cullen waited a full two minutes before looking for Josephine. Albine was hot on his heels, hissing at him. “You’re _angry_ ,” she said. “Don’t you take it out on her. Don’t you ruin the nicest thing we’ve had in years—”

“What _nicety_ have we been offered? Lies peppered with brief moments of understanding? As if a blind man should be grateful for being allowed to see every so often.” Cullen felt _used_ , felt like a commodity among commodities. He marched purposefully toward her office, and knocked twice on the door. “Lady Montilyet, we _must_ —”

The door opened, and she stood there in her bare feet, her hair spilling down her shoulders, expression open, honest, and _incredibly_ disarming.

“Cullen.” She sounded uneasy. Cullen would not be swayed, not on this.

“Would you care to explain to me why there is a murderer on this ship?”

Josephine _balked._ “ _What?_ ”

“Lady Trevelyan’s fiancé is an admitted killer. He told me so himself. He served with the Grey Wardens instead of going to _prison._ ”

“He gave you this information?” Josephine opened the door and went further into her room, pinning her hair up messily and searching for her shoes. “Oh, _Maker_ ,” she snapped. “Where _are_ they?”

Cullen frowned. “You…didn’t know?”

“Well of _course_ I didn’t know. You think _this_ , of all things, is something I would not tell you? _Zuzen_ , where are they?”

“What…are you doing?”

Josephine spun around. Her hair slipped from its flimsy clip. “I am going to talk to Varric and Cassandra.”

“I…no, no you don’t need to do that.”

“And why not?”

Cullen looked at the floor, meeting Albine’s knowing gaze. “I…thought you knew,” he said quietly.

Josephine straightened, now holding one shoe in her hand. “Oh.”

“I thought you knew and you hadn’t mentioned it to me.”

“I promised there would be no more secrets, Cullen.” She sighed. “But I suppose you did not promise to trust me, so that is…not important here.”

“I trust you.”

“ _Do_ you?” She turned to him, eyes sharp. Cullen felt the sting.

“Josephine, I—”

“ _Pirates!_ ” The speakers in the room blared. Cullen had never heard them used before, but he supposed now was as good a time as any. “ _Pirates on the starboard side! All armed and available personnel to the decks!_ ”

Cullen spared one last look at Josephine before he bolted down the hall for his room. Under his bed was a long, slender metal box that held the only remaining piece of his history with the Templars – his rifle, cleaned and primed. Carefully, he removed it, loaded it and went back into the hall. Bull stood at the end, a shotgun resting on his broad shoulder. In front of him, the Chargers, armed to the teeth, along with Dorian, his staff crackling with power.

“Where are they?” someone bellowed. Cullen turned and saw Varric and Cassandra, armed with a crossbow and _sword_ , respectively. Cullen blinked. “ _Where are they?_ ”

Alongside the ship rested another, no banner marking it, save for its name.

“I’ll be damned,” Varric muttered, and shouldered his weapon. “Typical Rivaini.”

“ _Varric._ ” Cassandra stepped forward, putting a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Were we _expecting_ company?”

He chuckled. “What was it you used to say? One can never expect more than surprise from pirates?”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Dorian asked.

“Bull, let them board.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Bull climbed the stairs. A few moments later the two ships docked alongside one another, and a woman, soaked from head to toe, crossed through the docking bay and onto their ship.  

“Are you trying to compete with me, Varric? You know I’ve _always_ got a bigger boat somewhere.”

“It’s not a boat if it flies, Rivaini.” Varric grinned and embraced the woman. “You gave us all a scare.”

“Well I knew you’d tell me to bug off if I wired ahead.”

“ _What_ is happening?” Josephine pushed through the small crowd, still shoe-less, still wide-eyed. She looked between them all, her gaze falling on Cullen’s hands. “Oh. You…have a gun.”

“Ah, yes. I do.”

“I knew that,” she said quietly. “I must have known that.” She turned to Cassandra. “There are _pirates_ on this ship.”

“They are also friends,” Cassandra said. She sheathed her sword. “Your ship be alright alongside our own, I take it?”

“Certainly.” The pirate twisted her hair in her hands, wringing out the water. “We’ll only be here a few hours.”

Varric scowled. “You cause a damn _ruckus_ and you’re only going to be here a few _hours?_ ”

“If that,” she said coolly. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said quickly, before Varric seemed to combust. “This way. Cullen, make the crew comfortable, please.” She waved a hand – Isabela and Varric trailed after her, snapping at one another. For a few moments, the two crews stood perfectly still, each staring the other down, before Bull came down the stairs.

“ _Into the mess hall!_ ” he shouted. “I need a drink.” A cheer went up from both sides, and everyone moved together, leaving Cullen and Josephine behind. They stood several feet apart, Cullen with his rifle hanging loosely in his hands, Josephine with her feet bared. Her hair had fallen out of its clip again.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Please. Forgive me, Josephine.”

“Of course,” she said quietly, and followed the crews into the mess.

 

* * *

 

Cullen didn’t join them. He returned his rifle to its box under his bed and went to find Sera. She was in the mess hall with the two crews, entertaining a pair of women with Prema’s tricks. He thought for a moment to pull her away and tell her what he’d done, what he’d said, so that she might call him an idiot as she often did and flick his ear for good measure.

But she was happy, and she was smiling, so he let her be.

Eventually, he found himself on the observation deck. It was empty, as it often was, save for a stack of Dorian’s books he’d left there, in his never-ending quest to find a quiet place. Cullen perched on the edge of one of the chairs, closing his eyes.

“I told you not to,” Albine said.

“Shut it,” he murmured. For a long while they sat there together, her between his feet, his eyes cast down at her. The door behind them opened, and Cullen turned to see Trevelyan walking in, her hawk dæmon now perched on her shoulder. The moment she reached a free chair, it fluttered down to the arm.

“Looking for someplace quiet?” she asked.

“Strange, isn’t it?”

She smiled, settling into her chair. “It’s been quite a week.”

“For you, perhaps. My entire _winter_ has been nothing _but_ this.”

“I suspect working for Varric is…harder than one might expect.”

“You’ve no idea.”

She laughed, leaning forward and looking at Albine. “She’s a tabby.” Cullen nodded. “My father’s got a big one. Spots and such. Not quite sure what she is. My brother’s was a horse.”

“A _horse._ ”

“It’s quite common in our family, actually.”

“Interesting.”

“I was the odd one out.” She gave her dæmon a fond look, but still, she did not touch him. “Something troubles you then?”

“Many things trouble me.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Thom told me he went to speak with you.”

“Yes that was…also interesting.”

“He’s like that. Terribly guilty all the time, no matter how long it’s been. Always punishing himself,” she muttered. “Wanted you to hit him, I suspect.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“I told him as much.” She leaned back, crossing a leg over her knee. “But he’s like that.” She paused. “It’s not just him though, is it?”

“No,” Cullen admitted.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” she said. “But…should you need some friendly advice—” She finally, _finally_ reached out, brushing her fingers over the deep red feathers on the dæmon’s head. “I find the things that trouble me most often can be sorted with a good rest and a good talk.”

“I excel at doing neither of those.”

“A pity,” she said.

“May I ask you something, though?”

“Certainly.”

“Josephine said you research Dust.” She nodded. “Why?”

“ _Why?_ An unusual question. Usually people ask _what._ ”

“I know what Dust is.”

“You should, I suspect. Templar and all that. Unofficial title or not, I’m sure with mages they had you talking Dust all the time.” Cullen nodded. “I do it because when I was a girl and my dæmon settled, everyone told me he’d settled wrong. That he was supposed to be like my mother’s dæmon, or my father’s. I couldn’t understand. He’d settled as he had, what was there to argue about? And when I turned fifteen, my father needed to bring me out, you see. I needed to be presentable. So I was…conditioned. We were trained not to need one another.”

“Dorian…Dr. Pavus said…he thought that may have happened.”

“The Tevinter? Yes, I suspect he’s fairly intimate with the process. But we weren’t supposed to touch. I was supposed to appear as if I didn’t need him. It was dreadful, and _painful._ The habit lingers. When I meet with people, we tend to remain apart.” The bird shifted into her lap. “It’s something we’re working on. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.” She smiled, stroking the dæmon’s back. “But I became interested in Dust because I felt…I _knew_ that I could see something. I could see my connection with him. I could see my mother’s connection to her own, strained all the time, the perfect wife and hostess. She was in pain. Up until she died, she was…she _hurt._ And I never wanted to feel that. I didn’t want that. So when I finally came across the true description of Dust, I was hooked. I had to know more. And I have spent all my life since then searching for it, for what it does. For what it _means._ ”

“Some say it’s the soul of Andraste.”

“Some do say that. It’s a quaint myth, and one I’ve read about. But that would require one to know for certain that Andraste existed.”

“You’re not of the faith?”

“I am of the scientific method, Mr. Rutherford. But I cannot look at a dæmon, the manifestation of the _soul_ , and not suspect there is something greater than me at work.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen and Trevelyan emerged from the deck as Isabela and Varric were coming out of his quarters. They looked tired, and older than Cullen could remember. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you’ll take my advice.”

“I won’t,” he said. “But I appreciate it all the same.”

“Well.” She sighed, and for the first time Cullen noticed her dæmon. A panther, from the looks of it, and black as night. He pawed at Varric’s own, sending the fox into a flurry of activity. “I hope your Qunari didn’t get my crew wasted. More wasted than usual, anyway.”

“They’re still standing,” Bull said, emerging from the mess hall with a grin. “Good people you have, Rivaini.”

“And you, sir.” She rested her hand on her dæmon’s head. “We should go then.”

“You should,” Cassandra said. “The storm is clearing. Though we will miss you,” she added, wrapping the woman in a hug.

“It’s good to see you again, Seeker. Glad to know someone’s taking care of this lug.”

“I would be bereft without her,” Varric said.

Bull and the Chargers helped get the _Siren’s Call_ settled and they all gathered round to watch her depart. For a long time, the crew stood there, shoulder to shoulder, until Rivaini’s airship was a speck in the distance. Cullen sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He was tired, and needed desperately to rest. Beside him, Josephine shifted, putting a hand on his elbow. “Are you well?” she asked.

Cullen smiled. “I am.” He looked down. “You never found your shoes.”

“I was distracted,” she said flushing.

“ _Josie had a drink!_ ” Bull said and reached down to lift her up, spinning her around. “This girl’s got it in her after all!” he shouted as she shrieked.

“Put me _down!_ ” she yelled, but laughed all the time.

Eventually, the crew dispersed. Cullen wasn’t even sure of the time, and Dorian threw his hands up when he asked.

“Late,” he said. “That’s all I know.”

“You’re in your jammies, ‘Vint.” Bull grinned and gave Dorian a poke in the shoulder.

“I’ll trust you to keep your eyes in your _head_ , thank you very much.” He looked down. “These aren’t my pajamas.” Dorian sniffed. “I sleep _nude_.”

Bull groaned. “You’re too much for me, ‘Vint. Too much.”

Cullen laughed, heading down the hall to get rest of his own. He felt Josephine’s gaze on him as he went, and gave her a smile. She smiled back, and her dæmon watched them go.

He still had no idea what time it was when the ship began to tremble. His first thought was that the engine was falling apart, because Maker knew he dreamt of it as often as he dreamt of _falling._ But he could hear it, piecing it out from the other sounds in the background. The sound of a separate, second engine. It rumbled alongside their own, and Cullen threw himself out of bed, reaching for his gun for the second time. Albine hissed.

“Pirates,” she said.

“Could be.”

“Will be. They followed the other one. You know how they are.”

Cullen swore under his breath and practically flew down the hall. When he came onto the deck, he saw them, exactly where Isabela’s ship at been, trying to force their in.

“Oh _no_ you don’t!” Bull leaned his entire weight against the door leading to the docking bay, grunting with the effort. “Chargers! Line up. They’ll break through and we’ll be ready for them!”

“You heard him!” Krem said. “Form up!” He took his own place and aimed his gun right at door behind the Qunari.

Dorian burst into the room, half-dressed and staff spitting magic. Trevelyan and Ranier were behind him, their dæmon’s screeching and howling.

“What is happening?” Josephine came out in her nightdress and coat, her hair wild, barefoot again. “ _Cullen._ ”

“Go back to your room,” he said. “Now.”

“I will _not_.” Cullen looked down and saw a pistol trembling in her gloved hand, her dæmon tucked against her chest. “I have lived my life on ships. I am not afraid of _pirates._ ” She brushed past him and took her place in line with Bull’s Chargers. Cullen swallowed and came to stand next to her.

“Please,” he asked, one last time. “Please go to your room.”

“Shut up,” she said, and carefully loaded the gun. Cullen stared at her gloves, felt overwhelmed by their presence. “I am a Montilyet. I have been taught how to duel.”

Cullen swallowed and looked ahead. They were going to break through. They were going to get board the ship. He saw for the first time how much closer they were to the water. They’d gone down in altitude, in preparation he remembered for a landing tomorrow morning. Or this morning. He couldn’t recall the hour or even the port they were scheduled to dock in.

At least, he thought, if they went down, they would not have very far to fall.

“Here they come!”

“You ready Curly?”

“Varric!” The dwarf and Cassandra stood behind him. She held her sword in one hand, a revolver in the other.

“We will prevail,” she said.

“There’s my Seeker,” Varric murmured, and pulled her down for a kiss.

At that moment, Bull let the door fall in, and the pirates swarmed the ship.

 

* * *

 

Cullen had never fought pirates this way before. There were a dozen of them, he suspected, each armed to the teeth. The door to the docking bay hung open, leading to the ocean below. Bull took the opportunity to send one flying over the edge, the man’s gull dæmon screaming after him.

He fell into the rhythm of battle easily, and didn’t have the time to check on Josephine, who seemed to be doing just fine on her own. Her little pistol made a popping noise each time it fired.

Albine was _alive_ , a flurry of claws and teeth. She leapt into the face of one of the men and scratched it to hell, giving a satisfied hiss when he fell over.

And so it was – a flurry of human and dæmon, the satisfying sound of battle easing around him. It swallowed them up, Cullen felt, like the warm arms of a mother. He was only a mapmaker because he claimed to be – Cullen had been, from the very start of life, a _fighter_ , and he was as he was meant to be here, in this moment. And they were winning. He felt that. He felt that thrill of success, that heat of victory searing his heart, that—

“ _Varric!_ ” Cassandra _bellowed_ behind him, and Cullen saw Varric crumple from the corner of his eye. Bull gave a _roar_ , and the Chargers seemed to swell, descending on their attackers with renewed force. Cullen saw body after body go sailing from the open docking bay, relieved each time that it wasn’t one of their own.

Josephine had clearly run out of bullets – she was using her gun as a glorified bat, knocking anyone who came near her upside the head. They tumbled toward the Chargers, who sent them flying.

The sight of her…how could he have demanded anything before? How could he have doubted her? She was a _warrior_ , and in her own right. Cullen felt warm at the thought. He felt his connection with Albine almost _pop_ with heat and love.

And then – he felt it. He felt the weight of another man bear against him, urging him toward the doors. The ship rocked. They both tumbled. Cullen felt for sure that he might fall onto his back, but his feet seemed to betray him, carrying him backwards and toward the door with more speed than he could rationalize. He felt a gentle tug between himself and Albine, and the gaze of his dæmon was all he saw as he felt the wind whip at his back, heard the noise of the other man catch himself, fingers scrabbling o the lip of the ship, staring up at him.

“ _Cullen!_ ”

Soft hands. Gloved hands. His rifle clattered to the floor and Albine leapt toward him as Josephine reached out to pull him back. Her grip was tight – that was always the place in his dream that he could not quite manufacture. What would it feel like to be pulled from death, ripped from the edge of it by the softest thing?

Cullen fell forward, fell on top of her, and Albine yowled, climbing onto his back.

“I’ve got you,” Josephine said quietly, _breathlessly_.

Cullen smiled. He moved away from her, and he almost kissed her.

The man clinging to their ship was beginning to succeed. He had raised himself up, and began grasping at something, anything. Cullen turned to kick him from the edge, but the man was too fast, his hands and body rising up, reaching, pulling –

He grasped Zuzen in both his hands, and Josephine screamed.

He grasped her dæmon in his bleeding hands, and then he fell.

He fell, the stoat writhing between he fingers, freeing herself from his grasp, and beginning to fall.

And Cullen heard a noise that he had not heard since he was a boy – when he had seen Mia’s rabbit dæmon closed up in a hunter’s trap and nearly carted off. She had run after the cart, wailing, the noise become worse and worse as Cullen and his brother chased them down, tried to tell them that they had caught his sister’s dæmon and to _stop, please stop so she will stop making that awful sound_ –

Josephine made the same sound. She fell forward, slumped into Cullen's lap – it was bloodcurdling, and it seemed to go on forever.

“ _Go, now!_ ” Cullen looked up and saw Trevelyan clinging to the ship, practically hanging off of it as her dæmon nosedived _down_ , down toward the sea, screeching. She looked pained, looked pale as their bond was pulled tighter and tighter, and the color only returned to her face when her dæmon reappeared, Zuzen dangling carefully from his feet.

Josephine had stopped screaming, but she had also appeared to stop doing nearly everything else. The hawk deposited the stoat onto her chest, and Cullen finally felt himself _breathe_.

“Josephine?” His own voice sounded small. Behind him, he heard Bull stomp toward the docking bay and toss the last to pirates into the sea. “Josephine, it’s over. You…Maker, you can wake up now.”

She was not asleep, he thought, not really. Her chest moved up and down, and her eyes were open, staring into the ceiling, but that was all.

“Let her go,” Bull said quietly.

“ _No._ She’s fine, she just…she needs—”

“ _Let. Her. Go._ ” Bull leaned down and pried Josephine from his arms. “She needs rest.”

“Her _dæmon_ —”

“Is alive.” Bull carried her away and down the stairs, leaving Cullen sat on the ground as everyone seemed to come back to life around him.

“Varric. _My love_ , oh—” Cullen turned. Cassandra was on her knees, turning her husband onto his back and holding his face in her hands. “My dear, my _heart_ , are you alright?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Varric muttered, and coughed something wet and awful. “Aw, _shit_ , Seeker—”

“Do not struggle. You need to stay still.”

“I need to stand—”

“For once _listen_ to your wife,” Dorian snapped, bending down. “Where’s Stitches?”

“Here, sir.”

“Do what you do, I’ve a few potions in my quarters.”

“I’ll have the boys move him to the infirmary.”

Dorian nodded. “I’ll meet you there.” He stood, pausing as he walked past Cullen. “Are you…alright?”

Cullen stared up at him. “No,” he said quietly. He felt her, still, the weight of her in his arms. Albine tumbled into his lap, burying her head under his hands. “No, I’m not.”


	8. to drink and be merry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i'm not even going to _explain myself._ i'm just gonna finish this because i remembered how in love with this particular story of my own i was, because i am. please enjoy.

“How frail the human heart must be – a mirrored pool of thought.” – Sylvia Plath

 

* * *

 

“— _sephine!_ ”

“— _somewhere she can rest, she’s can’t—_ ”

“— _rric alright? I heard—_ ”

The room shifted. The lights came in and out of focus, and all the world grew cold. She was aware of a presence by her bed, constant and large. Someone was reading to her, though she couldn’t make out the words or story, nor could she discern precisely who it was. Even when she was obviously stumbling out of a deep slumber, the presence was there. Josephine came to rely on it, ached when she could not sense it.

Zuzen rested at her side, clasped in her arm. Her dæmon was the only creature in the room she could name. Even her own identity escaped her, from time to time.

Eventually, her memory returned, and consciousness seemed to rush back, jolting her out of bed mid-afternoon with a shout.

Cullen moved, hands coming out to grasp her own. “You’re _awake_ ,” he breathed. “I’ll get Dorian—”

“What happened—”

“Let me get Dorian, and Trevelyan as well, you must be looked over, we need to make sure nothing’s wrong—”

Josephine wrenched out of his grip. “ _What happened to me?_ ”

Cullen sat, frozen in position, hands hovering around her. Eventually, he drew them back, and his dæmon leaped into his lap. He stroked her cautiously, eyes looking beyond any of them. “Pirates boarded the ship. Pirates our esteemed employer did _not_ know,” he added. “We fought them off.”

“I had a gun.”

“Yes, I’ll pick that particular bone with you in a moment,” he said, eyes narrowed. “One of them, though, he grabbed your dæmon. Pulled her over. You…”

“…screamed.” Cullen nodded. “But who…caught her?”

“Trevelyan’s dæmon. He flew down. She’s trained for it, you know. For the tug. She can handle it better than you or I.” He looked at her. “She saved you. Both of you—” At that moment, the door to her room flew open, and Dorian entered, carrying a leather bag that clattered as he walked. Behind him, Trevelyan sauntered in, her dæmon perched on her shoulder, inspecting the tiny room.

“The guard outside this room heard you talking,” Dorian snapped. “You should have fetched me immediately.”

“I asked for the truth,” Josephine said, and tried to explain that she was actually completely fine, but the words slurred in her mouth as she threw a hand out to catch her fall.

“You are _not_ fine,” Dorian said. “You’ve suffered a severe trauma, not to _mention_ scared Cullen and myself half to death.” Cullen flushed. Dorian continued. “I won’t even mention the state Bull has been in. He and the Chargers are in an uproar about it. They’ve been standing vigil outside your room night and day. And you couldn’t drag this one away.”

Cullen scowled. “I was only trying to –”

Dorian held up a hand. “ _No one is complaining_ , Commander. Except for me, right now. Move out of the way, so I can examine her. Dr. Trevelyan, if you will—”

Trevelyan nodded. She’d brought her own bag, Josephine realized, and began to pull out a complicated instrument.

Cullen huffed. “What is that?”

“It’s a shrink ray,” Trevelyan said dryly.

“We’re going to measure _Dust_ ,” Dorian said, smiling for the first time.

Josephine frowned. “…Why?”

“You and your dæmon experienced a tremendous pull. Frankly,” Trevelyan said, “I’d imagine a fall that quick and that far would kill anyone else. But the two of you have recovered in a matter of days—”

“ _Days?!_ ” Josephine pushed Dorian away. “You’ve let me sleep for literal _days_ —”

“No one _let_ you do anything,” Dorian said. “You were practically comatose. We couldn’t wake you. And trust me, Sera did try. She read smutty poetry.”

Josephine flushed – her image of Cullen sat by her bedside, reading to her, was washed away.

“Don’t worry, dear.” Dorian put a hand on her wrist. “Cullen read some, too.”

 

* * *

 

It took another afternoon for Josephine to walk well enough to be trusted alone. Of course the moment she could, she was flanked by one or more Chargers, asking if she needed something, asking if she’d like to rest. They left her only when she shouted, apologizing profusely and blaming one another for the offense.

And it was not that she didn’t appreciate them. It was only that she needed her space. Surprisingly, given his highly publicized bedside vigil, Cullen was the one who understood that the most. As soon as she could walk alone, he was gone. And though she would have liked to have him close by, it was an admitted relief to be alone. It gave her time to think, and assess the damage that had occurred over her last two days in bed.

According to Dorian, Varric had been substantially wounded, and had not left his quarters. Because of this, neither had Lady Cassandra. The two were growing sick of one another in the tight space, and Stitches reported that Varric made a horrible patient (no one was surprised) and had attempted to escape his bed a dozen times (also not a surprise). It took Cullen storming into the room, berating him for worrying his wife and troubling his crew for him to admit that he needed bed rest.

And, eventually, Cassandra was coaxed from the room, and convinced to join Josephine for breakfast.

“My dear,” she said, crossing the room and enveloping her. “Forgive me. I did not check on you. Are you well?”

“I…have slept better, admittedly. But I cannot complain. We are alive. Lady Trevelyan has told me I should count myself lucky.”

“Then we will thank the Maker, and remember that.” They ate in silence for some time, before Cassandra said quietly, “I am worried he won’t make it.”

Josephine looked up. She could think of nothing to say.

“It is typical of Varric,” Cassandra murmured. “Foolish man.”

“You have nothing but love for him.”

Cassandra smiled. “How could I have anything else? He is my husband, the man I chose to spend my days with.” She laughed. “Did I ever tell you how we met?”

“You did not.”

“Ah. It was an adventure, you see. Very much like this. I was on the run, of course. I hid on a ship with no colors, not realizing it was a pirate ship. Isabela found me stowed away, deduced precisely who I was, and kept me on board. We sailed to Kirkwall and took Varric on, after a rather thrilling run-in with the local Chantry authorities.”

“And you fell in love?”

“Actually, I detested him,” Cassandra said. “He was brash and rude and crass and I wanted nothing to do with him. But he could be soft when he wanted, and he was a _wonderful_ writer. We learned much from one another during those months in the air. I was grateful.”

Josephine leaned forward. “Is it true you simply returned to Kirkwall and had married?”

“Isabela was in the navy before she defected. She could marry us. And, so…” Cassandra waved a hand. “It was an easy choice to make.”

Josephine laughed. “That’s very romantic.”

“Isn’t it? And now, here we are.”

“You cannot think he will die, Lady Cassandra. That’s so _dismal._ ”

Cassandra nodded. “I know this. It is my heart. A preemptive breaking, I think. Hardly something new, I have known the feeling several times over.”

“Why is it different, now?”

She shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps because we are older, and we are closer to the end. Our lives have been filled with so much adventure. I cannot imagine Varric dying of old age in a bed somewhere. He'd prefer it this way.”

Josephine took a small sip of her juice. “I think we'd all prefer if he didn't die at all.”

Cassandra smiled. “Yes. As would I.”

 

* * *

 

The story of Cassandra and Varric's romance at sea lifted Josephine's spirits. After breakfast, she rested for another hour or so before making herself look presentable and venturing out onto the ship. The Chargers and the rest of the crew were immediately upon her, insisting she go back to bed, or asking if she needed anything – anything at all.

“ _Give the woman some space!_ ” Bull shouted, parting the crowd. “Josie. You alright?”

“I am on the mend,” she said, straightening up just a bit.

Bull chuckled, and he gave her a hearty clap on the shoulder. “That's my girl.” He turned back to the crew. “Alright, _back to work_ , you sorry lot.” He followed them to the engine room, leaving Josephine to wander carefully onto the deck of the ship, keeping her distance from the edge.

“Doesn't feel the same after something like that, does it?” Josephine turned, and found Varric walking toward her, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand. “I'm fine,” he said, even as he coughed. Josephine waited. “I'm _fine_. Really.”

“You sound like me, now. Though I wasn't shot,” she added.

“I'll take getting shot over what happened to you. No offense.”

“It's alright.”

“We don't have to talk about it.”

“I'd rather not.”

“Perfect.” Varric stepped closer to the edge and motioned for her to follow. “Don't let yourself be afraid, Ruffles.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was _one_ dress, at _one_ party.”

Varric wheezed with laughter. “Made an impression.” He continued walking and, not wanting to be alone, Josephine followed. She focused on the embroidery of Varric's shirt, and the gold-framed glasses tucked into his pocket as they leaned against the railing and watched the land go by. “We're getting close.”

“We are.”

“I'm worried about a mutiny.”

Josephine sighed. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, maybe not a mutiny. I'm worried about morale.”

“Oh?” Josephine leaned closer to him. “All the pirate attacks and screaming women have gotten you down?”

“No, the gunshot wounds to the _chest_ have gotten me down. All that other stuff–” He glanced over his shoulder. “I'm worried about that lot. We should throw a party.”

“A party.”

“Sure!” Varric straightened. “You could plan a party, couldn't you?”

“I...yes. I suppose.”

“I think it'd make everyone...happier. Make me happier, that's for sure. And come on, _Montilyet._ Don't tell me your little hands aren't _itching_ to arrange something.”

“I do _love_ parties,” Josephine admitted.

“Then it's settled.”

“Are we docking soon?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

She nodded. “I'll prepare my list.”

“Oh, look at you.” Varric reached out and squeezed her hand. “You look better already.”

 

* * *

 

In her defense, Josephine had been _born_ to do this job. Planning a party and planning an expedition required much of the same tenacity, quick wits, and resourcefulness. She had learned the art of negotiating prices at her mother's side, just as well as she'd learned how to find the right crew for the job by her father's. So it was hardly an issue to be arranging for extra food and ale to be brought on board the following morning, as she and Bull prepared for the landing.

“The boys'll be looking forward to this.”

“Varric thought they might.” She gathered her things and turned to go back to her room, stumbling right into – “Cullen!”

He blinked. He had bits of ink smudging his cheeks and nose, and his gaze seemed far away before it focused in on her, mouth falling open. “Josephine!” He grabbed her up and spun her around, forcing her to drop her folder and pen.

She didn't mind.

“I'm...I'm sorry.” He set her down, but his hands didn't leave her shoulders. “Cassandra said you were well enough to walk, but I started work on a project and lost track of...well. Everything.” He let go of her, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Forgive me, for not checking on you sooner.”

“You were with me for some time,” she said. “You can be forgiven for taking some for yourself.”

“I only read,” he said, cheeks flushing once more. “Dorian did most of the monitoring.”

Josephine smiled. “I appreciate it all the same.”

“Ah. Well. I'm glad.” He bent down and picked up her things, pressing them into her hands. “What are you planning for?”

“A party,” she said. They began walking out of the engine room and toward the deck of the ship. “Varric thinks it will improve morale.”

“He's probably right.” Cullen stretched and glanced out the windows. “Please let me know if I can help. Perhaps not the with planning, I was never allowed to do any of that as a boy.” He smiled. “But if you have anything heavy that needs lifting.”

“I'll know who to call.”

Cullen grinned. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I should go finish up before lunch,” he said. “I...I'm glad you're alright.” His hand moved for her, and his body leaned in. Josephine felt herself go slack, and she wanted so much to lean into his arms and allow him to kiss her, to touch her and hold her.

But the Chargers were walking past, and Josephine had a great deal of work to do.

And besides – he had pulled away, in the end.

She sighed. “We're a mess, aren't we, Zen?”

“We certainly are.”

 

* * *

 

Cassandra was annoyed that Varric had given Josephine work to do so soon after she'd begun to recover, but the idea of a party seemed to cheer her as well.

“Besides,” Varric countered over dinner that evening. “Who else is going to plan it? You?”

“I have planned a party.”

“ _A_ party,” Varric teased. “Singular. One. Also, a funeral isn't a party. Ruffles, what all do you need?”

“Nothing I can't sort out myself,” she said. Already she felt better. Organizing and falling back into her old schedule – she'd done a full round of inspections before dinner, and only felt a smidgen of exhaustion. Zuzen was happy to play with the Charger's dæmons again, and Josephine was happy simply to be up and about.

Of course, now that she was more lucid, her dreams were far more coherent as well, and she found herself that evening struggling to sleep, tossing and turning, feeling that terrible _pull_ over and over until she could rest no more. She rose and changed into something more appropriate before gathering Zuzen in her arms, and venturing onto the ship.

So late at night it was a dark and groaning thing, with a few members of the crew scattered here and there. They didn't pay her much mind this time around – she suspected the habits of the sleepless were nothing new to the men who worked the graveyard shift, and wondered if perhaps a life like this would suit her better. But, no, she decided. She enjoyed breakfast far too much.

Eventually she made her way to the little library on the ship, the spot typically occupied by Dorian during the day. There was a light on inside, and she thought, perhaps, it might be him, reading late into the night. She had half a tease prepared when she slid open the door, but found only Lady Trevelyan's fiance instead.

Thom Ranier looked up, closed his book with a snap, and stood quickly. “Lady Montilyet.”

“Mr. Ranier.” They nodded and she gestured for him to sit again. “Do not leave on my account.”

“I wouldn't want to bother you–”

“The company of a fellow reader never bothers me, Mr. Ranier.” Josephine selected a book and sat down in a chair opposite him, though neither made a move to read. She remembered now what Cullen had told her – that Ranier had been a Grey Warden, a conscription he'd taken instead of prison. She remembered that he was a murdered, once. He seemed to remember this as well.

“I'm making you uncomfortable,” he said. “I'll go.”

“No. You should stay. I'm only...I'm finding myself curious about things that aren't my business, as tends to be my nature.”

“The business of others _is_ your business, is it not?”

Josephine nodded. “I suppose.”

“And you did your research on me.”

“Yes.”

Ranier sighed. “So. You know.”

“I have known. Since Cullen informed me. I have a bit more knowledge than he does, I suspect.” She stroked Zuzen. “But my background check does not tell me how you and Evelyn met. Or for how long you've been engaged. All of that is...personal.”

“And you'd like to know.”

Josephine shrugged. “Your fiance saved my life. You gave your story to Cullen without prompting. The two of you simply...seem like people I should know better.”

He gave a low chuckle. “We do keep ourselves tucked away, don't we?” His hand wandered down to the large dog dæmon by his side. Josephine had never seen the breed before, but it was a beautiful creature with thick black fur that curled around Thom's fingers. “This is Callie.”

“She's beautiful.”

“She's something.” The two traded fond looks. “They threatened to cut her away, when I was supposed to go to prison. One of the reasons I took the deal, matter of fact.”

Josephine frowned. “That...seems unnecessary.”

“I think it had something to do with the Wardens. They needed more recruits. What better way to get 'em than to scare the living shit out of a few twenty year olds? You ever seen someone have their dæmon cut away?” Josephine shook her head. “I pray you never do. That's how I met Evelyn, you know.”

“She was–”

“We'd found a group of mages who'd had their dæmons crudely cut. Like a country doctor sawing off a limb. Poorly done. If it isn't cut completely, then the constant pain of the pull is there. Like they're close but not close enough. A dozen men and women, all suffering in some tower. Evelyn was brought in to see what could be done about it. She studies that. Knows how to fix things like that. I thought she was brilliant. Beautiful. Great big bird on her shoulder, words flying out of that mouth I'd never heard in my life. Wardens didn't talk much about Dust.”

“Wardens didn't talk much about anything,” his dæmon said. Her voice was rich, catching Josephine off guard. “Remember how long we went without speaking?”

“I do,” Thom said. He looked heart broken over it, still. “Anyway. After that my time was up. I didn't know what to do with myself so...I went looking for her. I couldn't get the sight of her out of my mind. She was studying in Kirkwall six years ago. And I...made a fool of myself. I won't go into it. That she still can look at me with an ounce of respect is a bloody miracle.”

Josephine smiled. “It sounds like she loves you very much.”

“Apparently she does. Agreed to marry me.” He looked her over. “You know that boy is mad about you, don't you?”

Josephine opened her mouth, a little taken aback. “I–”

“Seemed like you felt the same way. Just thought you should know, everyone can tell.” Thom set his book to the side and stood. “You should rest, love. I'm sure it isn't easy, but.” He came to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “If this is the life you want, then you may need to learn to weather a great many more tragedies. And start counting yourself lucky when you survive them.”

 

* * *

 

The party she planned for turned out to be rather subdued. They ate, they drank, and ultimately their band was made up of Dorian, Sera, and a handful of Chargers, playing while Varric told tales from his and Cassandra's youth, with his wife interrupting every so often to alter a few exaggerated details. When some of the crew began to dance, Josephine found herself spun about by Bull and Krem and even Varric, until she wound up right in front of Cullen.

His cheeks were a soft rose, and the wine in his hand sloshed onto his wrist as he caught her.

“There you are,” he said, grinning. “You're going to dance with me, aren't you?” He cleared his throat. “I mean. If you'd like.”

Josephine swayed in place, feeling Zuzen sigh happily into her ear. At Cullen's feet, Albine happily licked the few drops of wine that had pooled on the floor, glancing up at Josephine expectantly.

“I would love to.” She pried the glass from his fingers, set it down, and said, “Show me a proper Ferelden waltz.”

Cullen laughed. “I don't know one of those. But I can do something else.” And he spun her, grasping her hands and twirling her out among the others. They carved a space for themselves as the music played, and Josephine, who could have never named this dance even if she'd been remotely sober, found herself _laughing_ and spinning the night away. When her feet begin to ache, she abandoned her shoes. Her sweater followed, and her hair tumbled out of its clip. She felt Cullen grasp it in his hands, felt him bury his face against her shoulder and _breathe_ –

And all she wanted suddenly was to pull him away from it all, drag him into a corner where they could be alone, and kiss him 'til the sun rose.

“I can do better than that,” Cullen murmured.

“Maker, did I say that out loud?”

“You did,” Dorian said as he passed, half-dragged by Bull into some semblance of a dance. “But we all understand. He's very lovely.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” Cullen sighed and looked at her. “May I?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, and Josephine felt herself being pulled away from the music, into the shadows of the ship. “Yes you may.”

 

* * *

 

Come morning, Josephine was not entirely sure how to _name_ what she and Cullen had done the night before. He had certainly undressed her, and she him, but they had each had their fair share of wine, and Cullen was, above all else, a gentleman in all things. She knows he touched her, that he kissed her and held her. When she woke their dæmons were resting together at the foot of Cullen's bed, and Zuzen lifted her head and gave Josephine a smug grin. Cullen was snoring softly, facing away from her.

Awake now, Josephine knew she would not go back to sleep, but Cullen seemed to be buried deep within it. She dressed carefully and left him a note, informing him that she had gone to work, but that they would certainly discuss matters later, of course, and that she had most definitely enjoyed herself. She kissed his temple and gathered Zuzen in her arms before opening the door to head to her room –

And finding herself bumping straight into Cassandra.

“Oh! Oh, Cassandra. I'm terribly sorry, is everything–” Cassandra's face seemed contorted with pain, but Josephine was having a difficult time reading her. Her chameleon dæmon was perched on her shoulder, now a sickly green color. “Is Varric–”

“Varric is fine,” Cassandra said. “But he...he and I have agreed. There is something else we must tell you. Something we've...well. Come with me,” she said. “And I will tell you everything.”

Josephine stayed still. “More secrets.”

“If you will let me explain–”

“You said no more. You said no more secrets, and I promised Cullen–”

“I'm sorry,” Cassandra said quickly. “But this is my ship, as it is my expedition. And, so, it is my truth to give or keep to myself. Surely, you can understand.”

Josephine sighed. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

“Good. Then you must come with me.” She reached down and took Josephine's hand in her own. “I must tell you about my son.”

 


End file.
